


The story never told before. Book 1: The Wandering Star of Gondolin

by Quetzal393



Series: The story never told before. [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 239,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quetzal393/pseuds/Quetzal393
Summary: Everyone know the story of Morgoth, of Sauron and the One Ring, of Fëanor and the Silmarilli, of Galadriel. Everyone know the story of Lord Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer, or so it is thought. Did you know that he fell in love long ago in the Hidden City? And you will never guess for whom he fell. Slow burn.But this isn't the only story told in this book, also it's told the story of a woman whom in her realm was considered a cold assassin but whom with the love and perseverance of a golden elf, she changed for the better.Also in this story it is told how they're separated thanks to Death and it follows the adventures of this woman after the dead of the elf she loved with all her heart.This is also the story of Laura Kinney, the Wandering Star of Gondolin and of Lord Glorfindel, and later a mysterious warrior whom would wander through Three Ages accomplishing the mission entrusted to her.This is the first part of a series of books that tells the story that hasn't been told before because it happened behind curtains.Do you want to know more about this Wandering Star and her love? Do you want to know more about this mysterious warrior called Mortissë? Then come and read it!
Relationships: Dior Eluchíl/Nimloth of Doriath, Duilin of Gondolin/Original Female Character(s), Elenwë/Turgon of Gondolin, Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Idril Celebrindal/Tuor, Maeglin | Lómion/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The story never told before. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092620
Comments: 28
Kudos: 52





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Whoever enters to my profile will know that I usually write crossovers because for a strange reason is easier for me.  
> Anyways, this story follows (specially) the life of Laura Kinney AKA X-23 and her changing while living in Gondolin, her love with Lord Glorfindel and what happened to her during the rest of the First Age.  
> The data are the most accurate possible, though if there's something out of the canon, it's because for literary reasons.  
> This is the first of a series of books that tells the life of Laura in Middle-Earth since she arrived to Gondolin in the most fortituois way to the first years of the Fourth Age when she will finally find peace in the love of Glorfindel.  
> That's the only story. There will be another plots and love stories that though aren't part of the canon give a little more interest to the story. So... give it a chance, believe me it really worth it. The love between the Elf-lord and Laura will be slow burn and she's not a Mary-Sue, not at all.

Chapter 1: Prologue  
FA 510, June 21st. The Celebration of Tarnin Austa, The Gates of Summer 

'I will never understand these Elf guys! I've been living among them for fifty years. I still don't understand their rules and customs. Why don't they talk the night before the Gates of Summer?  
Elves are a rather strange race. I think it would be easier to understand the dwarves than Elves. Elves are immortal and civilized. They're perfect, and it still gets on my nerves sometimes. Especially when they refer to me as ‘fíriel’ or ‘fìrima’, daughter of the Edain race.  
But they only do it when they want to annoy me.  
They've still don't know what to think of me, I imagine. I'm a human who is immortal and with my characteristics. They've never met anyone like me! To date, the word 'mutant' has not occurred to them. Why? Don't ask me, because as I said before, Elves are a strange race.  
Part of it is because of moral values. They are very different from our society. For fifty years I have observed, I have noticed it, I have learned it.  
For example, Time. Time doesn't exist for them. It doesn't matter. Elves are immortal, they have all the time in the world. They don't have to deal with the constant rush that happens on Earth, as all society seeks to achieve goals and aspirations. Time on Earth is a bitter enemy to man, but for these guys ... it means nothing. A day is the same as a century.  
One would think that living like this becomes boring, especially in a place like Gondolin. Gondolin is a city that none can enter, and none can leave. It's a prison, in some respects. King Turgon believes that it is the best means to be safe from the evil that ravages Middle-Earth that is called 'Morgoth'.  
It was difficult at first. Every day was the same. You find everyone equivalent to the day before. They don't change physically. The only thing to break the monotony was birth of some Elfchildren and the arrival of Tuor, and later his marriage to Princes Idril. And then, of course, the birth of Ëarendil. But the most wonderful of all changes is Glorfindel declaring his love. He gave me a necklace I will wear beyond death.  
But with time you get used to it. At least I got did. You find you find more important activities than running to get to work or to get home to cook or take care of the family. No, you find time for much more activities ... that are more noble, 'higher', as Ecthelion would say. The study of the stars and, in general; of the arts.  
The Elves do that. Their music is beautiful, they wrote poems, building new buildings; take care of the environment. They can do this because there is no Time for them. Tuor said it best. 'Time is a vestige from the outer world.'  
However, the elves are certainly a very rare race because they have immortality at their fingertips, not to mention that indescribable beauty. They are very intelligent; they have an agility, speed, and stamina that can easily compete with mine. They are excellent warriors; excellent architects; their medicine, although only based on herbalism, is very advanced. Elves are a special race for sure, but they are so cocky! Most of Gondolin's population is composed of the Noldor. These are the smithy-Elves, and they know perfectly well that no one can surpass them in their metal-working abilities. (Except for the Dwarves, but that is an open secret). Many of them have a substantial ego. Among some, it was so great it led them to challenge their gods, the Válar. It's not that I believe in the Válar. I'm an atheist and I have not had any reason to change my mind; However, it's stupid to challenge a god you believe in.  
Their conceit has cost them dearly because they are here now, stranded in Middle-Earth and suffering for their pride. Morgoth has taken care of making their lives miserable.  
It was Fëanor and his oath that led them here. What a big ego the Noldo must have had at that time, that for a few jewels Fëanor and his children have decided to make an oath that would cost more than they could pay. He must have been unbearable. Poor Nerdanel! In fact, I do not think those bastards at the Facility were so greedy as to kill their own people for jewels. The Silmarils were for the Elves, the Heel of Achilles. Many of them also left a paradisiacal place called Válinor, similar to modern Earth's Eden. They abandoned it to get their own kingdoms. The Válar tried to stop them, but the proud elves did not want to listen and went through many hardships. For example, Glorfindel and most of the inhabitants here had to go through a frozen hell, the 'Pass of Helcaraxë', where the wife of King Turgon died.  
That sums up the Noldor. They look down their noses at everyone who isn't their own. Except for Tuor. He's a good guy, and he even won the heart of the Princess Idril, which isn't easy.  
As for me? My temper hasn't helped me much, neither my past nor my claws. What has helped me is my healing factor and my immortality as a mutant. But the Elves haven't figured out a way to classify me yet. Most consider me a resident of Gondolin, different but accepted. I train new recruits; I have my own house. I even have some respect, but I don't think I'll ever be as dear to them as Tuor.  
But Glorfindel, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, one of the best warriors of all Gondolin, the darling of this whole city, has fallen in love with me. That might earn me some points in their book.  
Every time I remember Glorfindel giving me his Fëa....something happens. I feel warm and safe and, my God, so happy! After years of loving him in secret, I discovered it wasn't unrequited. He doesn't care about my past, nor my temper, nor my mutation. He only sees me: Laura Kinney, his beloved Wandering Star, his Mànya.  
Obviously, there’s a dark lining on every silver clouds. For example, Elves can be very patronizing. They feel they are the firstborn of Zeus, unique in every way, even down to their concepts of love and marriage.  
I don't want to marry Glorfindel because it will elevate my rank, although I admit that the idea doesn't displease me. I have no intention of marrying him, so I belong to nobility, but because I really love him. Even if he was an ugly Elf (which is a paradoxical statement) and if he were poor, I would still be happy with him.  
But back to Elven marriage, Elves perceive it as sacred. It surprised me at first. Back on Earth, cheap flicks are normal, but Elves declare their love to last for all eternity.  
It's the same with sexual relations. When I told Glorfindel about of brothels and pornography ... hahaha! You would have seen his face! Elves are strictly puritanical about sex because, for them, it's equal to marriage. So, any bachelor or bachelorette Elf is a virgin. Yes! It's true! Even if they're a millennia old!  
To conclude, Tuor and I can consider ourselves the most fortunate of all humans. And talking about love, I am now the happiest person in the world. Glorfindel loves me too, just as I love him. Yesterday he asked me to join him on the walls so that we can be together to welcome the first dawn of summer. Let the party of Tarnin Austa can begin!' 

***  
Laura came running to the Eastern wall of the Hidden City. During those fifty years, she had learned to walk silently, almost as noiselessly as the Elves, which was excellent, especially for those festivities. The Elves took silence very seriously on the twenty-first of June, the day of the Gates of Summer.  
She climbed quickly up the stairs, heading towards the place where she and Glorfindel had agreed to meet the night before.  
The Elf-Lord was already there, staring out over the misty fields of Tumladen. His thick gold hair was loose. Laura loved his hair. It made her think of warmth and fire. No circlet adorned his brow or tarnished the gold of his hair, but he was wearing the colors of his house. There were celandine flowers sprinkled across the mantle on his broad shoulders like he had taken a field in spring and draped it over himself. He wore sturdy boots, and although this was a time of peace, his vambraces were on his arms. The gold chape of his sword-scabbard looked out from under his mantle.  
Laura stopped on the edge of the states and watched him for a second. She had no words to describe his beauty, internal and external. For forty years he had been able to see through a layer of stone that encased her heart. She had believed that people couldn't hurt her if her heart was hard. It had worked. For some more than others, but it worked.  
But Glorfindel had been a different matter. He had never given up, but slowly delved his way through that layer of smooth obsidian and discovered the real Laura Kinney. He had put aside the mutant, murderer, mercenary, and X-Man, known as X-23, and had only regarded Laura Kinney. And he had not been content with it, he had shown her that she was more than even than she had thought in her wildest dreams. He had helped to her change. Once, her ruler was anger or revenge. Now, her guiding star was love, directed towards only one. Him. Lord Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, whose heart was as golden as his hair.  
She could well be considered the luckiest of both mutants and men. That this proud warrior-Elf would look past the fair ladies of Gondolin to a strong-tempered, unattractive mutant. Mule-stubborn and difficult instead of the winsomeness, he had fixated his heart on her. Laura was lucky, more than lucky; and every time she saw him, her love for him increased ... if that was possible.  
He turned towards her; his blue eyes bright. Laura had arrived, and for the first time in fifty years, they would sing together to welcome Summer.  
He approached her, and kissed her left hand tenderly, on the knuckles where her claws would have protruded. Laura shivered. She knew this was his way of showing his infinite confidence and love to her. When he looked up, he smiled, intoxicatingly warm and bright.  
When he looked at her, Laura sensed as she always did, that he beheld a great measure of beauty.  
For him, she had dressed in a silken green dress, the edges of the wide sleeves and the neckline hemmed with silver. Her hair was loose, black and soft, something he loved. On her chest shone the necklace, the pledge of love that he had given her nearly six months ago.  
When Lord Glorfindel saw it, he gently passed one of his fingers around the outline of a horse, his beloved's favorite animal; while, with the other, he gently squeezed the left hand of his love who blushed. This done, he led her to the place where he had been standing.  
Neither of them had exchanged a single word, in the observance of tradition, but they both felt love. She leaned her head on his broad chest and closed her eyes as they stood there.  
Suddenly, Glorfindel felt a slight shudder and he looked down, into Laura's wide green eyes. She turned her frightened gaze from him and gazed around the fields below. Her body tensed. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The dawn breeze was cool on their faces, wafting every few moments in soft gusts.  
Her eyes sprang open. She released his hand and leaned over the wall. When the wind blew, she would grow rigid, concentrating on whatever smell it brought her. Every movement was made with more and more fear.  
Her hands clenched into fists. Glorfindel caught her by the hand and whispered in her ear, a voice taut with concern. "What's wrong?"  
She swallowed; her pupils dilated with fear. "Glorfindel, something terrible is coming. I've sensed it, I've smelled it!"  
"What is it?" he asked urgently.  
Stars were pale in the sky; the heavens were purple across the Echoriath. And the sunrise song burst out, sweet notes rising true and clear to greet the fiery sun of Summer's dawn. The keening of silver trumpets rang out loud in ancient custom.  
Then across the jagged peaks a red flame roared, dying the mountains as if with blood. There was the noise of thunder, and standing upon a great peak, a crimson dragon lifted back its head and roared.  
Silence fell. The songs failed in the singers’ throats. Terror gripped the city with iron claws.  
And across the reddened peaks, there stood black figures, an army, a mighty army of despair. Dragons roared among them, war-machines and mighty trolls. Balrogs shrieked for the rape of Gondolin.  
There were mustered all the legions of Thangorodhrim, and their braying horns echoed dimly in dark Echoriath's sides.  
Dragon-fire burned the sky and seared the clouds.  
Gondolin was hidden no more.


	2. The beggining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As all, everything has its beginning. How was the beginning of Laura's adventures firstly in Gondolin?

Chapter 2: The beginning

*Fifty years before the fall of Gondolin.

Like a fine mist, the grey sky above them shed rain, and it splashed on the flagstones of Gondolin's forecourt.  
In the center of the court, a tall Elf stood, silvered and steely, with a white diamond upon his brow to bind back his black hair. Before him was a young scout of the Grey-Elf race. His green and brown garments portrayed him as a scout.   
"Tell me what you have found," Ecthelion said gravely. The scout was one of his, one of the ten that served under the Lord of the Fountains and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.  
And scouts and warriors were needed alike and in plenty. The years grew evil. Morgoth ‘The Enemy’, sought to destroy all and spread his darkness over the world.   
The Elves had suffered greatly under the attacks of the Dark Lord, and it was from them that Morgoth had created his most numerous servants.   
But within the Hidden City, the Firstborn could live in relative peace. Morgoth was not yet aware of its existence, for Gondolin was surrounded by the Echoriath mountain-range, and the Great Eagles of Thorondor dwelt in the Crissaegrim and kept the spies of Morgoth from discovering the location of Gondolin.  
However, the inhabitants of Gondolin did send out scouts and runners, and it was from one of these patrols the young Sinda had returned.   
He bowed, the wet leather creaking.   
"I am Langion, son of Agaren, and I speak to serve. Lord Ecthelion, we have found a company of Orcs."   
Behind Ecthelion, his grey mare stamped uneasily and snorted.   
The Sinda continued. "No more than two miles from here, but they are dead."   
Ecthelion's forehead furrowed.   
"Ah." was all he murmured, absently stroking his horse.   
"Why so downhearted, my friend?" asked a cheerful voice. Ecthelion turned towards Glorfindel.   
The half-Vanya nodded to the scout and then to his friend. He was dressed in light armor, plated with gold and in his belt hung a sword that had few rivals. His face was young, keen and beautiful and his arms banded with gold. His Sun-colored hair hung to his waist, its hue in no way muted by the constant rain.   
Ecthelion gestured to the scout. "Langion, pray repeat your report."   
"We have found a company of Orcs, my Lords, upon the Cristhorn." repeated the Sinda quietly. "But they are slain. I have already spoken with the other scouts and warrior’s parties, and none have ventured that way for over a week."   
"Then let us see," replied Ecthelion. 

***

They had traveled through Tumladen's grasses to the foot of the Cristhorn, the fogs bewildering in the plains. At the bottom of the cliff lay a slaughter-pit of carcasses, around which the other scouts were already gathered.   
"They are all dead, my Lords," called a female Elf, rolling a corpse over with her boot.   
"That is well." answered Glorfindel but added to Ecthelion in a low voice. "I would rather know what they were slain by."   
Ecthelion nodded but said nothing as they approached the carcasses. It stank of rotting flesh--even the rain could not wash that stench away. Standing over the body of an outlying Orc, he examined the killing wound carefully. The creature's face was split in half. Black blood ran in puddles, diluted with water. Ecthelion approached the next. This one had its right hand severed, and the other mutilated. In its chest were two thin punctures, as if those made by a rapier. The last one was cut in half, its entrails spilling out over the stone.   
"This was a slaughter," muttered Glorfindel behind him.   
"A slaughter indeed," said the older Elf. "But they did not do this themselves. Someone, who was not among them, killed them ... massacred them. Look here," he added, pointing towards the first corpse he had examined. "The weapon used to do this must have a sharp edge indeed. A rapier, I would imagine, by how thin the blade appears to be."   
"Two," suggested Glorfindel.   
Ecthelion nodded agreement.   
"It is a war-wise being who has done this. But look. Elven warriors mortally wound their enemy, but never so ... "  
"Bloodthirsty?" Glorfindel said, looking around him.   
"Bloodthirsty" repeated Ecthelion "Only the hosts of Morgoth are as cruel."  
"We may deal on that later. I wonder who it was."   
The female who had spoken earlier approached them.   
"I am Inrusc, daughter of Calel. May I speak?"   
Ecthelion nodded to the wood-crafty Elf. "Do."   
"The fighter left tracks because of the rain. There was only one." Inrusc said, crouching down and pointing to almost invisible markings. "It is the foot of a mortal."   
"Not an Elf?" questioned Glorfindel.   
She looked up.   
"Not, not an Elf! Similar, yes, but not quite. See how the mark crushes down the grass?"   
"This is ill news," said Ecthelion. "That a man has discovered a whereabouts."   
Glorfindel shook his head, unconvinced.   
"I doubt that even a very valiant mortal could defeat a score of Orcs. Only the Elves could, and they still are hard-pressed."  
"Be that as it may, we must first discover the warrior. The tracks lead back towards the Echoriath." interrupted Ecthelion. "Let us follow them."   
The lush grasses of Tumladen swayed about them. Clusters of willows and aspens grew by the edges of the Encircling Mountain, and it was through these the parties walked. Inrusc and Langion went in front to follow the tracks, but these stopped abruptly in front of a gnarled willow, with a broad trunk and tall crown.  
The two trackers bent their heads together in muttered consultation, and then Langion swung nimbly up into the tree, a knife clamped between his teeth.  
A few moments later, he dropped through the green leaves. After sheathing his knife, he stood up.   
"Captains, there was an object in the fields. It is no more than two miles away. I have no doubt the trail will go straight to it." 

***

It was less than an hour when they reached a small glade, surrounded by white willows. Over the pitter-patter of raindrops shaken from sodden leaves was the sound of labored gasps and moans.   
Glorfindel held up his hand, and unsheathing Culumaica, quickly made his way through the thick grasses. In a low dene, a figure lay on its face, and on its back was a bleeding wound. It was trembling, grinding its teeth between groans of pain. With the flat of his blade, he carefully flipped the body over. It was a human woman.   
Ecthelion was approaching him.   
"By Manwë," muttered Glorfindel, looking down at the face of the woman by his feet. "A woman, here? How comes it?"   
He sheathed Culumaica and knelt down.   
It was a female in the summer of her life. Her figure was slim and hard, and her skin pale and covered with sweat. Her face was masterful, but not beautiful. Her hair was tangled, but was black, the same shade as her attire. She wore tight leggings, and a low-cut upper garments and a wide belt with a silver buckle emblazoned by a large X.   
"Where do you think she comes from?" asked Ecthelion.   
Glorfindel did not answer but instead held up one of the woman's cold hands.   
"It is covered with blood. Orc gore, to be definite," he said soberly. Blood was spattered over her, hardly noticeable because of the darkness of her apparel.   
Ecthelion overlooked the incongruity of this statement for the present.   
"Does she have a weapon?"   
"No." Glorfindel paused. "She's wounded gravely. An arrowhead embedded in her back. I cannot tell if it is poisoned. Orc arrows often are."   
The Noldo looked down at the woman with thoughtful grey eyes.   
"Nestaë is a skilled healer. She should be able to extract it."   
Hearing this, Glorfindel looked up angrily.   
"In the name of the stars, that is truly folly! Are you mad, that you would take a strange mortal to our city?"   
"We have no other choice, Glorfindel. Listen, "he continued. "We must know how the Orcs could get to the Tumladen, and how she came to cross the Echoriath? How did they escape Thorondor's sight?"   
"And if she is a spy?" demanded Glorfindel.   
"Even if she is, she is in no state to do anything against us. She is burning with fever. No, she is truly ill."   
Glorfindel looked at the woman with a hard face. Ecthelion spoke right. If they left her, she would die.   
"Listen to me out. If she is a spy, her companions may try to follow us. But it will gain them nothing. None can pass through the Gates save those who know the secret words. Nestaë will try to save her life, both for the knowledge that she can give us and out of... compassion."   
Glorfindel sighed. He distrusted those who were not of his Folk, and even less, those who came unbidden to the city he had sworn to protect with his life. But a true warrior had compassion.   
"Very well. We have the whip hand, without a doubt." he said, "But we must blindfold her."


	3. Strange things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura Kinney is well known for her wonderful ability of healing from the worst wounds in matter of seconds. What will the Elves will think about this?

Chapter 3: Strange things

As soon as they passed through the Steel Gate, Lord Glorfindel took a different route, up to the palace of the King. Ecthelion carried the woman to the House of Healing. An Elf-maid in the garb of an apprentice, opened the doors for him and led him inside.  
Ecthelion nodded to her as they climbed the flight of stairs. "Where is the Mistress of Healing?"   
She drew her eyes with an effort away from the face of his burden.   
"Lady Nestaë is in the herb-room. This way, my Lord."   
The woman tossed in Ecthelion's arms. She had the pallor of a dead man, but her face was rigid and covered in sweat. From time to time, she tossed and moaned, babbling out some incoherent words.   
Ecthelion followed the young healer quickly, as his burden moaned. 

***

Nestaë was a Nolde and the chief Healer of all great Gondolin. Her knowledge of healing was unsurpassed, and it was said her hands were blessed directly by the Válar because of her gentleness. She had first been noted by Turgon during the cold crossing of the Helcaraxë, in which she showed her clear mind and self-control. Many of the Elves had suffered during that icy hell, and with the death of Elenwë and others, the Elves grew weary and disheartened. It had been Nestaë that distributed food, healed the wounds icy winds had inflicted and heartened her miserable fellows. And when Turgon the Wise had been able to see through his tears, he made her the Chief Healer.   
Nestaë had faced other challenges and dealt with them wisely. The return of Turgon after the great battles of the Dagor Aglareb and the Dagor Bragollach. Her strong mind and patient temper made her invaluable.

***

"Here she is, my Lord," said the maiden, opening the door. It was a small room where Nestaë was hanging up herbs to dry. She was not tall, but there was a quiet confidence in her bearing that made even the rashest warrior heed her. Her hair was light brown, combed into a thick braid that kept her hair away from her face but also gave her elegance. She was dressed in green, with a golden crest upon her girdle that signified her rank.   
She bowed when she saw Ecthelion.  
"My Lord."   
Ecthelion held out the woman in his arms.   
"Nestaë. Nestaë, I need you to heal this woman."   
Nestaë did not waste time on questions.   
"A mortal," she said, brushing past Ecthelion, but her eyes were dissimilar to the diffidence in her voice. "Come with me. I will show you an empty room."   
"Yes, a mortal," answered Ecthelion, his long strides quickly catching up with the healer's shorter, although brisker steps. "Nestaë, can you heal her?"   
"I do not know," she answered, hurrying down a sunlit hallway. "Where is the wound?  
"Nestaë, I need you to save her," Ecthelion pleaded. "She is the only sign we have to unravel a mystery. She was shot in the back, and the arrowhead is still embedded."   
Nestaë stopped him.   
"An Elf arrow?" she said with discerning satire.   
Ecthelion swallowed, looking down at this woman who had the strength of an oak in the body of an acorn.   
"No. An Orc arrow. But do not speak of it! We cannot alarm Gondolin."   
"I did not hear it," she said resolutely and opened the door. "But the wound is poisoned. Lay her down here, my Lord."   
She bent over the woman, as Ecthelion watched by the doorway.   
"There is indeed an arrow-head in her back. But I do not know if I can save her, even if I extract it now. She is burning with fever, and her heart is irregular." She shook her head. "She is a mortal. They are not as strong as our race. But, I will do everything in my power to save her."   
"I trust you," said Ecthelion quietly.   
Nestaë nodded in acknowledgment and began to quietly gather her instruments. This would be a challenge, even for her. 

***

Turgon stood upon the balcony, dressed in gold and white. Below him, Idril sang in the gardens, and he smiled. The sky was grey, and the rain still sang on the fountains, but Idril loved the rain and sang with it, a sound that brought joy to his heart. Here, he had founded Gondolin, so that the child who had lost her mother could be guarded by indomitable stone.   
"My Lord Turgon."   
The High King turned to him. A ruby-throated hummingbird flitted past the vining flowers.   
"I have troubling news." said Glorfindel, pausing a respectful distance from his King.   
Turgon nodded slowly.   
“That is ever the fate of kingship. But must it be on so.”   
"I fear so. I have come straight away to tell you. There was a company of Orcs that crossed the Echoriath. We discovered them was slain at the foot of the Cristhorn." Glorfindel drew in a breath, fearing the King might think him mad.   
"They did not slay themselves, nor did the Great Eagles find them. It was a seasoned warrior, but a bloodthirsty one. But that is not all the news."   
"And who do you think could have done such a thing?" asked Turgon softly. Beneath the robes, Glamdring was still at his belt, a reminder he was more than a King, but also a hale warrior.   
"Lord Glorfindel thinks she was a woman." answered a clear voice. Lord Ecthelion stood in the archway, his attire stained with the blood of his burden.   
Glorfindel was tall, but Turgon was taller, and his gaze was cynical.   
"A woman?" he repeated   
"My Lord Turgon," said Glorfindel. "I am aware that this sounds unlikely. But she has covered in Orc gore......mainly her knuckles. But," he added hesitantly. "She had no other weapon."   
"You and I will speak later. Where is she now?"   
"In the Houses of Healing," answered Ecthelion, coming to his friend's aid. Glorfindel was stiff with chagrin. "Nestaë is trying to save her life. An arrow was embedded in her back. She thinks it is poisoned. In the case that Lord Glorfindel was right, I have left guards in the room, five of my finest warriors."   
Quick footsteps were heard at that moment, and the young maid that had guided Ecthelion darted through the doorway, her breathing hard.   
"My Lords," she gasped. "Mistress Nestaë requires your presence. Now, my Lords!" 

***

The Lords of Gondolin were yet in the hallway when they heard Nestaë's cool voice commanding all to leave the room. The High King went past the guards and opened the door.   
The woman was on the bed, writhing and shaking in violent fits. Her legs kicked wildly at the sheets, and her back was arched. Guttural choking noises came from her twisted mouth, stained with black froth.   
Nestaë was standing by the bedside, watching her with grim resolution.   
"No, stay back," she said crisply. "If we hold her we will injure her more."   
"What happened?" Turgon asked.   
"My King, we extracted the arrowhead from her back. It was poisoned, soaked in poison from what I see." She held out the barbed steel gingerly. "Do not prick yourself," she said, laying it in Ecthelion's outstretched hand. "This is a vile poison in great measure. It is strange that a woman could survive it." Her voice remained cool, but her eyes searched for answers. She could not find any in their faces. "After I removed the arrowhead and was about to cleanse the wound, she began to convulse and froth at the mouth. I know little about the body of men. All we can do now is wait for it to end."   
"And when will that be?" Asked Ecthelion.   
"I do not know. Most likely, death will end it." she ended gravely.   
Glorfindel looked past her. "Then, is she dead?"   
Nestaë turned around. Slowly the violent convulsions ceased until the sufferer lay limp on the bed. The healer approached carefully and rolled the woman onto her side. She looked up at the Lords, and then down again.   
"Now this is a knotty problem," she muttered. "The wound has disappeared."   
"Disappeared?" demanded Glorfindel in disbelief.   
Nestaë inclined her head with vague impatience.  
"See for yourself."   
The warrior approached on the balls of his feet, ready for attack. There was not even a scar on the woman's back.   
The woman shuddered. Nestaë flipped her hurriedly on her back and stepped away, waiting for the convulsions to begin, but there was no fit. Instead, black sweat broke from the clammy skin.   
"Give me that bin." said the healer, bending over her patient. Glorfindel grabbed the receptacle and held it out. Nestaë dipped a rag in the water and wrung it and began to wipe the sweat from the woman's arms and forehead. It was dark and viscous, with a foul odor.   
"Another cloth and a bin," she said calmly.   
Immediately the objects were handed to her, and she dried away the black tears that welled from under the woman's closed eyes. They too were black and oil. After wiping her mouth, she opened the door and called out. "Nëume, watch her!"   
The maid was standing with the guards in attendance and came in quickly. Nestaë left the room, making a gesture for the three Lords to follow her into the next room.   
Once out of hearing, she stopped, holding up three clothes. "Look at these, if you will."   
"They reek of orc poison," said Glorfindel immediately   
"Indeed. These are from her spittle, tears, and sweat. They are dark in color and smell of poison."   
"What is your intent, Nestaë?" asked Turgon.   
"I believe, good King, that her body is healing itself. Sweat, tears, vomit and spittle are means by which the body rids itself of harmful substances." Nestaë explained. "I do not know much about the mortal body, but I do know this much. This is why, when one is ill...."   
Her words were interrupted by a retching sound and Nëume entered the room. "She is vomiting. It is also black."   
Nestaë put her hand on the apprentice's back and hurried from the room.   
"I tried to clean away her sweat and tears," explained the young Elf. "Little by little, they grew lighter in color until they were natural. But she was still tossing and babbling, so I put cold cloths on her brow. But when I about gave her a simple to bring down her fever, she began to vomit."  
Her eyes were worried. Nestaë smiled comfortingly.   
"You did well."   
She approached the bed, to see the woman hunched over a large bin, retching continuously.   
"Dagniul," the healer muttered to herself. "That is the poison the Orcs made us of."   
The woman stopped vomiting and fell back heavily on the bed, her eyes tightly shut.   
Nestaë reviewed her vital signs.   
"The fever has disappeared," she said at last, "Her heart is stable, but she is still insensible. We must let her rest as long as possible."   
Turgon sighed and turned to Ecthelion. "Can you spare other five of your soldiers?"   
Ecthelion looked hesitant.   
“I can, but these five are well-trained. They can care for one sick woman.”   
“I will not have my city at risk.” answered Turgon sternly. I will never put Idril in peril.   
“It shall be done,” answered the Lord of Fountains.   
The High-King nodded and looked to Nestaë. "Send a messenger as soon as she wakes."   
"It shall be done." echoed the healer.   
Turgon looked at the form on the bed for another moment. Will she be the downfall of my City? If she brings harm to Celebrindal…my vengeance will be slow and terrible. He turned to his companions. "Come. I need you to recount the full tale of how you found her. Then we must summon a Council." 

***

On their way from the House, Ecthelion stopped and ordered one of his guards to go and bring back another five of his soldiers.   
Nestaë began to clean the woman's face, her own expression impassive. Her patient was breathing normally, but occasionally a groan escaped her, and her face distorted in bouts of pain.   
The healer shook her head inwardly. This was a strange creature. It was a mystery, a mystery that she hoped would be unveiled soon, for the safety of the city.


	4. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elves have been witnesses of the wonderful ability of Laura's body of healing itself. Now that she's awake, what will they think of her? And now that she's awake, what will she think of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will note that between Lord Glorfindel and Laura there's no good will, yet they fell in love. No doubt that the saying that goes 'from hatred to love there's one single step', is true.

Chapter 4: Awakening

Laura’s POV

'I think I woke up to the mother of all hangovers. Which is weird. It's very difficult for me to get drunk.   
But, maybe I did. I can't remember, but everything hurts. Hell, even my eyelids hurt. They feel swollen shut.   
This room smells of herbs. Not drugs or my head would be in worse shape. I think they are medicinal. And there are people. They smell weird, but I can smell their adrenaline. They are probably guards. Ah, there's a clank. They're carrying weapons. Guns?   
Then there's a disgusting smell. Like the weapons of those creatures. I remember now.   
After I killed them.......dammit. Someone must have found me. I think I'm in a hospital. But why the guards? My claws were retracted, and I didn't have a weapon.  
Okay, then I'm in a hospital, and the owner doesn't trust me.   
Someone is moving. I can hear clothes rustling. And now there's talking. I can't put my finger on the language.   
Son of a…. This is a strange position. I’m going to open my eyes and finish assessing the situation. After that, maybe I'll pretend I'm harmless, or I'll run away. It depends who has me.

***

"My lady," called Nëume gently. "She has awakened."   
Nestaë straightened from her work and approached her patient. The woman's green eyes were open, but she was lying absolutely still, except for the rise and fall of her chest. At Nestaë's movement, her eyes fastened on the healer.   
The Chief Healer touched Nëume.   
"Send a message to the King, young one. Tell him the woman has awakened."   
At the sound of her voice, the woman frowned slightly, but it did not escape Nestaë's eyes. After Nëume left, she stood over the mortal. "How do you feel?"   
The woman did not answer and submitted silently as Nestaë reviewed her heartbeat and breathing.   
She began to look around the room, observing the guards outside the door carefully.   
"Are you well enough to sit up?" asked Nestaë, with no great warmth in her voice.   
The woman looked expressionlessly at her for a moment and then pushed herself up.   
Nestaë took a cup from the bedside table. "It is a tincture that will add to your strength. Drink it."   
The woman took the cup and smelled it, and then shoved it back to Nestaë.   
Nestaë was not used to being so refused.   
"I said, drink it." the healer replied quietly. "Do so."   
Her patient dodged quickly around Nestaë's hand.  
The Healer faced the mortal, noting that her eyes were fixed curiously on her ears. She raised her eyebrows.   
"Did you know it was uncouth to stare? I am a daughter of the Quendi. Leaf-shaped ears are a mark of the Firstborn."   
The woman arched an eyebrow skeptically in return.  
"Let us pass." said a voice outside, and King Turgon entered, followed by Glorfindel and Ecthelion. 

***

Laura’s POV

‘I am in a hospital. But this one seems devoid of stretchers, electric lights and all the classic characteristics of a sanatorium. No, it's warm here, and sunny, and there are herbs that I've never seen. Maybe it's because I'm still dizzy.   
There are also guards. They're dressed in plate-mail. But, it's much different from medieval armor. It's light, I can see that, from how quickly they move.   
In addition to my bodyguards, I have two nurses. Their dialect is foreign, but also musical. I could understand their director, but she spoke in a different language.   
There are not many pointy objects here. I think they carefully hid those away. My boots on a chair. Maybe I could knock out the little nurse with those, but the other one looks tougher. Anyways, I'd have to use my claws against the guards. The window is large, but it would be a tight squeeze, and I don't know how high up I am.   
There are ten guards, and I'm still weak. Ten to one isn't fun anytime, and I'm still weak. My chances of success average to 10%.   
It's best to wait.   
I'm beginning to think this staff is composed of angels. They walk silently, they're beautiful, and they have a very musical language. One of the nurses asked me how I feel, I think. That's what interns typically do.   
Maybe the guards are the archangels. Where's Michael?   
Hell, this isn't heaven. Saint Peter would run from me. Heaven is for good people. I'm never going to get there.   
The nurse's ears are pointy! Damn, they really are. What the hell! Where am I? I don't remember any of Raphael's cherubs having pointy ears. That's characteristic of Elves. The nurse doesn't like me staring at her ears. Ha! Bad luck, nursie.   
The poison is stronger than I've thought. It must affect the brain as well. Ah, the plot thickens. Three seraphim have just entered. One's a blondie, who doesn't appear very sympathetic towards me. Ha! Time to appraise these angels.

***

King Turgon had listened with great concern to the tale of the two Elf-lords told. The account of the Orc corpses troubled him. Such cruelty was only for the Darkness.   
The woman was his greatest concern. She was a creature like he had never seen.   
She was weak and a foreigner, that much was clear, but would he stake Gondolin, and Idril's safekeeping, on the life of one human, doomed to die within a hundred years?   
The Orc company did not trouble half so much, but the strange mortal truly worried him.   
He listened attentively, unwilling to make a judgment without the Council, whilst judging his Lords' emotions towards the woman.   
Ecthelion seemed sympathetic towards the woman's plight. The Elf-Lord had an open heart towards all Free Races, and he hoped that she would live.   
But Glorfindel was unfriendly towards her. He was convinced that the mortal was a terrible and bloodthirsty woman, perhaps even a spy of the Nameless One.  
The sound of slippered feet of marble interrupted them. Nëume's black hair was loosed from her apprentice's hairstyle with her speed.   
"My Lords, I bring a message from the House of Healing. The woman has awakened." 

***

When the Lords arrived, they found that the woman sitting on the bed. Nestaë was sitting beside her, holding a cup. The mortal turned and look at them impassively, her face and eyes blank of all emotion.   
Turgon now looked a king, with the coronet of red garnets upon his black hair, and his face grave and powerful.   
"I am Turgon ‘The Wise’, High King of the Noldor, and Lord of Gondolin. Who are you that dares to trespass within hidden realms?"   
The woman stared at him with green eyes. and did not answer.   
Fingolfin's mighty son pointed to himself.   
"Turgon ‘The Wise’." He laid his hand on Ecthelion's shoulders and then Glorfindel. "Ecthelion, Lord of Fountains. Glorfindel, Chieftain of the House of the Golden Flower."   
The woman did not respond. Her face was impassive but not vacant, and her eyes unexpressive.   
Nestaë stood up.   
"Gracious King, this is a response to the ordeal the woman has undergone. She may not speak for some time. It is common that minds will be disturbed." she added, with a glance at the woman. The black-haired mortal stared back with calm unreadability.   
Tottering slightly, the woman slid off the edge of the bed, holding onto the frame to keep from falling, and stared inquisitively at Ecthelion's ears. The Lord of the Fountain stood still.   
"She was puzzled by my ears," continued Nestaë. "And I am not the only one, I see."   
The woman after having contemplated Ecthelion, approached Glorfindel, still holding onto the bedstead. Glorfindel looked at her all the warmth of the Grinding Ice and stepped away.   
"Glorfindel, friend, do not leave," said Turgon softly. "She may have never seen the Quendi before, and her wonder is natural."   
Glorfindel looked at his King incredulously.   
"If that is so, Lord, how could she be from Arda?" he demanded.   
The woman let go of the bed-frame, her arms stretched to their full lengths as she tried to reach Glorfindel. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Carefully, Ecthelion helped her up and placed her back on the bed.   
"Has she eaten anything?" asked Turgon.  
"No. Neither did she want to drink the tincture prepared. She does not trust us, as we do not trust her."   
"And we do well to do thus," muttered Glorfindel. "We know nothing of her."   
"If she will not drink the brew, do not force her. But feed her, we need her in good health for the Council," answered Turgon to Nestaë, ignoring Glorfindel's discontent.   
He left the room and did not look back as his companions followed. Ulmo, you have guided me to build this city. I pray you, do not let it fall through my soft-heartedness. I will do anything to protect my child.

***  
Glorfindel’s POV

'Since I have seen her, I have had no confidence in this mortal. I am certain that she did slay the orcor. She is a seasoned warrior: dangerous and savage. She almost succeeded in misleading our scouts.   
And now I see her awake, my distrust has only grown. She is cold and impassive, and I hate that.   
The only thing she showed interest in was our ears, or so she wanted it to seem that she was measuring our skills. She is a bane to our city’. 

***

Ecthelion’s POV

‘Glorfindel loathes the woman, but he is young and impassioned towards anything that endangers his city.   
I doubt that she slew the orcor. That would have taken a strong warrior, and the woman who cannot stand does not look like.   
Her inexpressive face puzzled me, but Nestaë has the right of it, I think. That woman is still a child, by Elven standards, and she has suffered shock, enough to make the stronger of the Edain still be disturbed in mind. No doubt she will soon recover.   
The only sign of a conscious spirit inside her body was her reaction to our ears. It was childish, but it was an emotion that I am glad to see and is in keeping with her race.   
I will not judge against her at the Council. I do not believe she is dangerous, but neither do I trust her. But, we can show her kindness’

***

Laura’s POV

'If seraphim have pointy ears, then I am in heaven. But heaven doesn't exist, and if it did, I would be sent straight on to hell. There's a lot of blood on my hands.  
No, I won't think about it, not now.   
I was introduced to the three most formidable beings, whether they're Elves or Angels. There was Turgon, who wore a crown of garnets and a golden girdle. I assume he is the King. The other two are high-ranking, I should guess, more so than the guards, judging by their armor.   
The guards belong to this Ecthelion. They both have the symbol of a diamond surrounded by fountains on their breastplate.   
And then there's Blondie. Glorfindel doesn't care for me, and I could see it in his face. He thought I could stand up just fine. Turgon and Ecthelion might not trust me, but they don't dislike me the way Blondie does.   
One thing is a certainty: all three are strong warriors and they'll be a pain in the ass to fight. If I do get past the guards, I know these three are experienced and strong. The best I can do right now is stay put, it won't help me to fight, not in this condition. Besides, I'm hungry ... oh, good! Time to eat!’


	5. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's meet the Elf-lords of the Council and what they have to say about Laura not to mention about Laura's chosen facade considering her situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several times Laura says that she wouldn't be able to enter to heaven or that she want to make them suffer or punch in the eye to Lord Glorfindel. Let's remember that Laura was an assassin in Earth, so by then even if she's part of the X-Men her old self still is there and she's insolent and don't care for anything but her.

Chapter 5: The Council

The sunlight of high noon streamed through wide windows in a flood of silent gold. The rains had given way to a day of early summer.   
The High-Council chamber was made of marble, a hall of fluted pillars and delicate arches and wide windows through sun-heat or moon-cool passed with equal ease.   
Gathered inside were the Chieftains of Gondolin, their faces as stony as the table before.   
Turgon ‘The Wise’ sat at the head, grave and resplendent in red, white and gold. On his crest, he bore the Moon, the sun of the House of Finwë and the scarlet heart of Fingolfin. In his girdle, he wore the blade of Glamdring, and his hand the Staff of Doom.   
On his right hand was a young Elf with eyes of repressed black. His hair was of raven also, and he was dressed in unblazoned sable. In a sheath of dark and virgin leather lay Anguirel, forged from a fallen star. In his face, there was some semblance to the features of the King, recalling close kinship.   
Beside him was Salgant, Lord of the House of the Harp. He too wore sable, though there was a white harp blazoned upon his chest. His pale eyes were dimmed by sedentary living, the Light in them tarnished by the soft flesh around his eyes.   
Beyond Salgant was an Elf much different. He was slender, with a countenance like an eagle, and his eyes, pale blue, shone with a fierce expression. He sat erect as if looking from a lofty mountain crag. His cloak was dark blue, and his tunic purple, charged with the white arrowhead. In the braids of his black hair were white feathers. He was Duilin, the greatest archer of Gondolin and Chieftain of the House of the Swallow.   
To Turgon's left was then Eglamoth, who girded with a curved sword, strange among the Noldor, and clad in a blue mantle upon embroidered with crystal stars. He wore an opal in his helm, a sigil that he was of the opulent House of the Heavenly Arch, the treasure-hoarders.   
Beside Eglamoth was an Elf of great stature and strength. His hair was dark red and tied in a single braid. His clothes were the color of the garnet and upon his broad chest the token of a stricken hammer, with golden sparks. He was Rog, Chieftain of the Hammer of Wrath, and he wielded a mace.   
The one who followed was green-clad, green-eyed Galdor of the Tree, the was dressed in green, and his symbol of a young tree.   
Past him was a black-haired Elf with eyes of gray. He dressed in silver and white, and his symbol was a silver pillar and a tower of white. He was Penlod, Lord of two Houses.   
Lord Ecthelion sat beside him, wearing azure, embroidered with diamonds. His tunic was silver with the pale blue of a fountain on his chest, and there was the sharp glitter of a white diamond upon his brow.   
To his right was Glorfindel, youngest of all those assembled save Maeglin. His hair was longer than the other Chieftains, and it was of pure, thick gold. His eyes were blue, his face fair and keen. Like Maeglin, he was of mixed race, both of the Deep-Elves and the Fair-Elves He wore a grey undertunic, and his green vest was charged with a rayed sun and besprent with celandine flowers in golden thread.   
Ecthelion and Glorfindel had just finished their strange tale, and there was a moment of silence before Galdor spoke, in that faint and gentle voice peculiar to him.   
"Are we certain she does not understand our tongue?" he asked.   
Glorfindel paused.   
"I know not for certain, Lord Galdor, but I believe that she did not understand a word."   
Rog held up his hand. His voice was deep and echoed around the chamber in command.   
"My Lords, let me speak. From your tale, it is betokened that she has never before seen the Quendi. From what reaches of Arda Hastaina can she come from?"   
"I care not for that so much," said Duilin. He was a hasty speaker, and fierce in anger. "But by what means has she found the Hidden City!" He turned to the King, but Turgon held up his hand.  
"Peace. No Quendë here assembled cares more on that point than I, but angry words will no aid us." Said the King  
Ecthelion nodded to Duilin.   
"I do not know, friend. But for the moment, we have the whip-hand." Said Lord Ecthelion  
"I am not so assured," said Glorfindel. "I think she is a servant of the Darkness. None but a trained spy could portray nothing in her face. I dislike it, and distrust it."   
Maeglin raised his eyes. Blue eyes met black.   
"Now that is strange," he said quietly, but the Lords listened to the young Prince. "But it is not the only strange thing. You spoke of her healing, that she was cured…" He let his voice trail off.   
Glorfindel nodded.   
"Aye, tis so. She was healed with marvelous swiftness after the Lady-Healer took the arrow from her back. And it was not some healing brew. She cured herself."   
Maeglin said. "Aye, but is it warrant to mistrust her?”   
Turgon looked to his sister-son. "Tell me your counsel then,"   
Maeglin stood up. "I cannot speak in full, for I have not seen the woman. But the Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion have said many things. Namely, this mortal woman killed a company of Orcor, and yet there was no weapon found on her body. Insentient, she healed her wound. Were this tale from any other one, I would say it was only a falsehood, but these Lords are beyond suspicion. Knowing then, that they speak the truth, I see something here beyond our dreams. I counsel that we do nothing hastily until we know if she is of darkness or light."   
Salgant shook his head.   
"I accuse you of no lies, Lord Glorfindel, but how is it in reason that a woman could kill a company of Orcor." He said  
"There was gore on her hands," answered Glorfindel coldly.   
Rog laughed, deep in his chest. "So, she killed them with her fists. Nay, my Lord, that will not do. You spoke of sword-wounds."   
Penlod spoke. "Lord Rog, I have not seen her, but it could be that she threw aside the weapon somewhere. If she managed to get ahold of an Orco scimitar, it might be conceivable."   
Duilin brought his fist down on the table in a leap of anger. "Conceivable! Did you leave your wits in the streets, my Lord Penlod? I pray they are not trod on! A fírima cannot slay a score and five orcor!"   
Turgon's voice was as controlled as Duilin's was hot.   
"Silence, my Lord. We must then determine what to do with this fírima."   
"May I then speak, my King?" said Maeglin softly. "We must be evenhanded in this matter. The Council needs more knowledge about the fírima. Bring her here, before the council. She may know things vital to the safety of Gondolin, and forewarned is forearmed."   
The Lord of Gondolin sat in thought for a time, listening to the soft conversations that began between the Lords.   
"Yea, Maeglin. Your rede is wise. Mayhaps the fírima will change her manner upon seeing the High-Council." 

***

Laura had eagerly eaten the food brought to her and drank the plenteous amounts of water supplied, something Laura appreciated infinitely, but also inwardly. It was necessary to maintain her facade. If she changed it at all, she felt sure Nestaë, the most perceptive of the nurses, would see it. Laura's plans would collapse then, and she would be at the mercy of these Elves or angels.   
She was sure that eventually, they would try to get answers about the squad of creatures that had attacked her.   
They would certainly be horrified, especially at her claws, and they might have an affiliation with those monsters. Anything was possible, she reminded herself. She did not want to see their reactions.   
She was sure that, if they knew what she was capable of, they would probably want to get rid of her. Turgon, Ecthelion, and Glorfindel could defeat her. It would be hard to kill her, because of her healing factor, but it could well happen that she was locked in a dungeon for... forever.  
The smartest thing was to make the Elves believe she was a harmless, disoriented woman, who was soft in the head. If she was anything, she was not harmless. She was a creature made to kill and destroy. But she was also a spy, and she just might be able to fool them.   
She was sitting on her bed, watching the wall, developing the different scenarios that could play out, when she heard someone talking with the guards, and turned slowly to see Ecthelion, carrying a piece of black linen.   
Laura kept her face blank, but the beauty of his clothes startled her a little.   
Ecthelion imitated blindfolding her. Laura lifted her black eyebrows fractionally but complied. After tying the knot firmly around her head, he took her arm and led her along the halls, out into the open streets. His guards followed them.   
He had carefully placed them in the center of his cadre of guards, to avoid letting the woman being seen. He did not want Gondolin in an uproar before the Lords made a decision.   
It was a long walk to the Council Chamber, for the Healing House was by the Lesser Market, and the Palace was a distance.   
Once they arrived in the cool hall, he unbandaged her eyes, leaving his guard at the door and the woman near the center of the room.   
Ecthelion returned to his chair. His footsteps echoed in the silent hall. 

***

Laura’s POV

The cuisine wasn't my favorite, but 'when in Rome, be a Roman'.   
Honestly, it wasn't too bad. Hunger is the best sauce. It was mostly comprised of vegetables, with a piece of venison, and was fairly small because they worried about me vomiting again. They also supplied plenty of water, seeing I was dehydrated. These Elves....or angels or whatever they are, are medically competent, even though they only use herbs.   
The question is now, what do I do next? I’m convinced that my "good Samaritans" are Elves, and they are clever too. The head of the staff is a very intelligent person, that's for sure.   
I feel a stronger, enough to try and escape. But if I meet any of the three Elves that dropped in for a visit, I’ll have a hard time. Maybe I could defeat one, but that's debatable.   
Three options can happen:   
One: They let me relax and then come and try to weasel answers out of me.   
Two: They’ll teach me their dialect or their sign-language to get answers.   
Three: They’ll send me to a prison until I change my mind.   
Regardless of what option they choose, they all have the same objective. They want answers, answers they won't like and will get me in trouble. I'm in enemy territory here, and I need to invent an alibi credible enough to dupe everyone, including Blondie. He'll be the toughest to trick because he’s already biased.   
Ahhhhh, it seems the chess pieces are moving. Ecthelion has come for the visit, and he wants to bandage my eyes.   
Well, well. We'll see what happens’

***

Laura’s POV

My tour lasted for a good half hour, and I can say I’m in a large city. Judging by how quiet it is, either the populace is taking a unanimous siesta or I'm going through back-streets.   
We’ve entered a building. It is much cooler, and I can hear a fountain.   
Now we’ve stopped now, and I smell people and hear their breathing. I guess Turgon, Ecthelion and Blondie wanted to introduce me to some friends.  
And, the blindfold’s off.   
Whoa! Well, it seems today is the day of heavenly visions!   
Ten seraphim all staring at me. It’s an angelic committee meeting of some kind. You want answers, huh? Well, we'll see if you get it, guys, we'll see.

***

The ten Elf-lords watched the woman before them in silence. Many there had not befriended men, and here in their inviolable city stood a mortal.   
She was tall; wiry and slim, with green eyes and black hair. Her jutting chin and thin eyebrows were masterful, but she was plain-featured, what the kindest of the Quendi would call her ill-favored.   
She looked at each Elf-Lord fixedly, and a sense of constraint and veiled hostility settled upon the company.   
Finally, the woman approached Maeglin and looked at his ears attentively. The son of Eöl was used too far stranger things, and his countenance was as expressionless as the stranger's face as she studied his ears.   
Eventually, she moved to Lord Salgant, whose face showed open surprise.   
"I surmise that she has a great fondness for our ears," Lord Egalmoth said dryly.   
"She has never before seen one of the Quendi," replied the King. "Her interest is fathomable."  
"Is her interest only of our ears, or of something else?" said Galdor, watching the woman.   
Duilin stood up sharply. "She need not stare at mine like a wanton. Her curiosity may be our downfall!"   
Glorfindel nodded in ardent agreement.   
"The Lord Duilin speaks wisely. Her interest may be our demise!" he said   
"Do you truly think, my Lords, that this woman can harm us? Her attitude is that of a simple-minded child," said Penlod soothingly, suffering the woman's examination.   
Glorfindel's jaw was tense. "And have you seen a child, my Lord, who has not one sensation in her face or eyes?"   
The woman seemed to have finished, all save Duilin, who had stepped away at her approach and would not allow her near.   
She had shrugged at this, and returned to her former position, her stance expectant as she stared at the circle.   
"Woman," the King said, his words slow and clear. "Where do you hail from?"   
She stared at him.   
"By what name are you called?"   
She did not answer.   
"Woman," the king called, speaking as slowly as possible "where are you from?"  
"Let us try with gestures," Lord Egalmoth advised. "Woman," he called, raising his hand to get her regard.   
She turned and looked at him.   
"I am Eglamoth," he said, standing and laying a hand on his chest. "Eglamoth."   
"Egalmoth," said the Elf-lord pointing to himself "Egalmoth," he repeated. Then he pointed to her, showing her to say his name; but it was in vain, the woman just stared at him. The Elf-lord tried again, repeating the names of all the Lords assembled, but to no avail.   
"We already made that attempt," Lord Ecthelion mentioned. "She does not respond. It is like her mind is far away."   
Duilin snorted.   
"My lord, you mentioned that the Healer Nestaë believes this is harm to the mind, because of the Orcor raid?" Lord Salgant asked.   
Ecthelion nodded, and there was a brief silence as the Elf-Lords met the stare of the woman. However, after a few movements, her eyelids drooped, and she drew a deep breath that sounded like a sigh.   
Turgon rose.   
"My Lord Ecthelion, pray escort her to the Healing House and place her under Nestaë's charge once more. Leave your guard there," he added.   
The Lord of the Fountains rose, blindfolded the woman again, and returned her to the Healing House. Soon, he was again at the Council, as they judged the matter. 

***

Laura’s POV

These Elves don't know what to do with me. Which is perfect, because they might leave me in the forest or the mountains.   
Although they might not be angels, they are beautiful and wealthy. Most of them appear experienced warriors, and all are loyal to their King.   
I have a particular dislike for the goth Elf. What's his name? Oh, Maeglin. I suspect he may be a pain the ass for me at some point. My past hasn’t been exactly pretty, but it’s given me a surviving instinct. And that instinct says I need be careful around him.   
I don't appear to be garnering a lot of sympathy, not even from Ecthelion and Turgon.   
Duilin, Rog, and Blondie are currently on the list of bête-noire Elves. Their antipathy seems kind of unwarranted. Sure, I might try and kill them if I had the chance, but I haven’t done anything yet to merit their animosity.   
As for the others, they don't appear too bad. Salgant is the softest, and probably the easiest to manipulate or scare. That may be useful.   
Up until this point, my plan has worked. I know their weapons, and their hands indicate they had been using said weapons for a long time.   
Ha! They even bought the little ruse that I was sleepy. At least I'm not losing my touch.   
I guess they're now puzzling out what to do with me. If they take me out of the city, all the better for me. If not ... I'll see what I can do. The first thing is to try to get my kevlar. These clothes are comfortable, but it's not as good for fighting as my suit. 

***

Once Lord Ecthelion had returned, Turgon spoke.   
"So then, friends. What shall we decide?"   
Penlod spoke. "If Healer Nestaë believes that her witlessness is on account of the shock, mayhaps we should wait for her recovery."   
Eglamoth's gaze passed from Turgon to Penlod.   
"I would side with Penlod in this matter. I doubt she understood ought that we said, or even what is happening."  
Galdor looks at the gilt cornices. "Surely this makes her harmless for the present." was his neutral observation.   
Duilin's mouth twitched in anger, and his blue eyes sparked.   
Turgon inclined his head.   
"Then you, my three Lords, agree that she will tarry in the city until we can speak with her," he asked  
"Aye," was heard thrice in the chamber.   
"And what say the others?" asked Turgon.   
Lord Salgant spoke.   
"I say we let her heal, I am in concord."   
The King looked to his oldest companion.   
"Lord Ecthelion?"   
"I do not trust her, my King, for she is a stranger," he answered thoughtfully. "But if we show kindness maybe we win the woman's trust and, in that way, discover our answers."   
Turgon then looked to his other hand, where the young and fiery Lord of the Swallow sat. "Lord Duilin? You have said little."   
"Only on your command of silence, my Lord!" said the Elf, taut as a bent bow-string with anger. "I believe that the wisest place for her is in a prison. I do not trust her. She is not harmless. And our softheartedness cannot be the bane of our city!"   
The king nodded slowly. "Lord Rog?"  
"I do not trust her either, my King," answered the Elf-lord, "And Duilin's speech seems sound to me, although we may deal with her kindlier than shutting her away in a prison without certain proof."   
"I surmise, that your judgment about the woman has not changed, Lord Glorfindel?" Turgon asked finally.   
"Yea, my Lord, but I think imprisonment is not enough. Once we find our answers, we will pray Thorondor to fly her far away."   
"And leave her at the mercy of anyone who could harm her?" Lord Egalmoth asked in disbelief. "My Lord, that is ungallant. Outside of the Encircling Mountains, Morgoth's darkness is rife!"   
"Aye, and she can return to her master!" spat Glorfindel fiercely.   
"Glorfindel," said Lord Ecthelion in a tone of reasonable counterclaim, "This fírima cannot have slain the Orcor."   
"I am of one mind with Ecthelion," said Rog. "I do not trust her, but I doubt that she could have slain them. Perhaps she knew who their killer was, but no more."   
Glorfindel drew in a deep breath, but Turgon turned his sister-son, for Maeglin was wise in council, and Turgon held him in high honor.   
Maeglin looked up into the eyes of his kin.  
"Grant the fírima one chance," he answered firmly, but those who listened thought he may have spoken of more than the fírima. Those who heeded oft to the rumor of the city knew that Maeglin was often called the Bastard Prince, and names iller than that. "We all need a chance to prove who we are, and this Council cannot judge without knowing. To do such a thing would be not only unjust but also not worthy of such a wise King."   
The king was thoughtful for a moment.   
"She will stay," he finally said, "Under guard, but not in a dungeon. We will assign her a room in the Healing House until she is ready to answer. My Lords, do not speak of it outside this room. Not until we know the truth."   
"What of the orc company, my King?" Asked Lord Duilin, his voice calmer now.   
"You will go with a cadre of your archers to Thorondor. Mayhap he knows something. If not, put him on his guard. This Council is ended!" 

***

Once the great chamber was empty, Glorfindel approached his King.   
"My Lord," he began haltingly.   
Turgon looked up with vague impatience.   
"Glorfindel, friend, I know of your distrust. And for this reason, I charge you, and the Lords Eglamoth and Ecthelion to mind her."   
Lord Glorfindel nodded cheerlessly and was leaving the hall when Turgon's voice arrested him. "And men do... do not be too exacting upon her. My sister-son speaks the truth. Every creature deserves the chance to prove their true self."   
The Elf-Lord sighed inwardly and left, leaving the High King of the Noldor alone in the Council-Chamber, in doubt.


	6. A passing strange discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's remember what was the Council not to mention that Lord Glorfindel hates Laura, however it'll be in this chapter that he will discover that will make him think that maybe and just maybe he's wrong in his behavior towards the woman. Also another very important character will appear.

Chapter 6: A passing strange discovery

Turgon was standing on a low balcony, whose balustrades and pillars were twined with silver and gold blossoms. Around him flitted the hummingbirds, their ruby throats and green wings flashing in the setting sun, the most beloved bird of Itarillë.   
"Atar, what troubles you?"   
Hearing the voice of celestial music behind him, the High-King turned, his heart suddenly warmed. Standing under a carven marble architrave an Elf-lady stood, smiling warmly.   
She was tall and slender, and her beauty was a loveliness that was warm and radiant and spoke of eternal youth. The rich gold of her long hair was so bright it vied with the Sun, and in it were braided strings of white jewels, telling of her noble birth.   
Her eyes were very bright, and in the blue depths there spoke strong will, and foresight, and great knowledge for one young of years.   
She wore a robe of the finest alabaster silk that ended about her slim ankles, and a girdle of filigree silver fretted with pearls. Her delicate feet were unshod.   
Turgon came towards her and approached her tenderly, with all the love that only a widowed father can have for his only child, and the Princess returned the embrace warmly.   
"Atar, tell me what troubles you," she asked, in a voice of unrivaled silver. "Your face is grim, though the day is fair, and you did not perceive my presence till I spoke."  
Turgon's brows furrowed in slight surprise.   
"Have you stood here long, my daughter?" He asked  
"Nay, Atar. I have been here for only a whit. But you promised that we should ride in Tumladen? Surely you remember." she added archly.   
Turgon closed his eyes wearily. Yes, he remembered, but the Orc company and the firíma had made him neglect something so dear to him. If there was ought that cause him to forget his cares and sorrows, it was being with his daughter.   
"Forgive me, Itarillë," he said. "I was beholden to address some small troubles, and alas! They have distracted me."   
"Surely you do not mean to forswear your promise, Atar?" she asked archly, with a merry gleam in her eyes.   
"I must. We cannot go riding for some time, I fear."   
Her smile was exchanged from a worried frown.   
"Why? What troubles bind you so?" Then seeing his sad and weary look, she came to him and laid her golden head on his shoulder. "Tell me, Atar, I pray you. Perhaps I may lighten your burdens."   
The young Princess, called Idril among the folk of Gondolin, but Itarillë by her fond father, was insightful well beyond her years. Her foreknowledge was wondrous, inherited perhaps, from her mother Elenwë, known not only for her beauty but her wisdom.   
Turgon held her for a moment, then returned to the coolness of the palace. The great chamber they entered was dim after the brilliant light, and in its center was a cool fountain, springing nigh to the dome before falling into a pool. Idril followed him to the side of the pool, where they watched the water fall in iridescent droplets.   
"I have in my hands one thread of a tangled skein," he said at last, once he saw they were alone.   
Idril watched him. The King struggled inwardly, striving to decide if it would be chary to continue. Many times, the wisdom and prudence of his young daughter had been a great aid for him, and in many things, she was his lodestar. Finally, he drew in a breath. "This morning, the Lords Ecthelion and Glorfindel happened upon a company of Orcor in the Tumladen."   
Idril drew in her breath. She was no stranger to the Orcor and knew they were answerable many of deaths and dangers that had befallen the Quendi. Even as a young child, she had been present for the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, where the company of Fingolfin had been waylaid by Orcor.   
"And did they slay them?" she asked in a low voice.   
"Nay, Itarillë. They were already slain when the Lords happened upon them. We do not know who committed this deed, but it must have been a seasoned and strong warrior, but who is bloodthirsty and cruel as well."   
"And who is that warrior?" asked Idril, seating herself on the edge of the pool.   
"Therein lies the difficulty. We do not know, but the High Council believes that it must be one of the warriors of the Darkness."  
"He did not leave any trace? There is no clue?" she asked, her chin on her hands in contemplation.   
"No." The hesitance in her father's voice caused Idril to look up. "They also found a firíma."   
Idril's eyes were wide.  
"A daughter of Men?" she demanded. "But how?"   
"We know not."   
"This is strange news. Where is she at the present time?"   
"In the Healing House. There was an arrowhead in her back, poisoned, as only the Orcor do with their weapons. Nestaë removed it, but once the arrowhead was gone, the firíma healed herself within minutes."  
"I know little of Men, but their bodies are weaker than ours. How then did this come to pass?" said Idril, standing up.   
"You speak truth, daughter, but I also tell you the truth as well. Not even Nestaë has an answer for this wonder. "  
"Do you know aught else, Atar? Her name or her homeland?"   
"Therein lies the next difficult. The woman is awake, but her mind seems troubled. She shows nothing; no fear, no confusion, no surprise. All that I have seen was some slight interest on account of our ears."   
"Our ears?"   
"Aye. She examined our ears. Seemingly she had never seen such things."   
"So, she has not seen the Quendi before," concluded Idril, frowning thoughtfully.  
"Perchance. Nestaë has told me that it is a consequence to she suffered whilst her body healed itself. Mayhaps the firíma does not even understand what is happening around her. " The King paused. "Until now, nobody has had any success in speaking with her."  
There was a long silence between father and daughter. King Turgon returned to the balcony and watched the Sun set. Arien's vessel slowly sank behind the peaks of the Echoriath and then hung for a moment there on the western mountain-line. When at last it spoke its farewell and vanished, the air grew quiet.   
Far down in the city, he heard the harping of the sunset songs. Gold still wavered in the sky, but outside the limit of this sun-kissed pale, the blue of the sky gradually grew darker, and the first stars shimmered.   
Suddenly the Princess’ voice startled him.   
"Atar, you know that a wolf that lies idle will win little meat, and we must have answers. Let me go and speak with her. Mayhaps with me she will feel otherwise."   
Turgon shook his head sternly.   
"Nay, Itarillë, in no way can I allow you to do that. We do not know aught about her, nor her purpose. She may have arrived by chance, or by the guidings of the great Enemy, and I will not put you in danger."   
"The Enemy?" repeated Idril. "Do you think, Atar, that she is a spy? "  
"No, never." Turgon sighed impatiently, recalling the supposal of Glorfindel. "Nay, I do not think so, daughter. None do save the Lord Glorfindel. He is certain that the firíma is responsible for the death of the Orcor."  
"Such a thing is doubtful. Surely, an Elven warrior could do such a thing, but I question if a man could."  
"Indeed, you and I are of one mind, but Lord Glorfindel is unyielding on his claim that she is answerable for the Orcor. Though, if she is, why then would she be a Servant of the Darkness? She did us a great favor if indeed things went as Glorfindel claims."   
Idril smiled.  
"Indeed, Atar. So, will you not let me attempt it?"  
"No!" Turgon said, with obdurate resolution. "I cannot in my right mind allow you to go. If you are hurt, daughter, what then shall I do?"   
"Atar," said Idril firmly, and by the glint in her blue eyes, it was clear that she would win her point. "Atar, I have always helped you, and you have often said that my foreknowledge aided you in difficult times."   
"But it this is a different matter, Itarillë." the King answered gravely. "The undertakings with which you have assisted me before never involved danger to yourself."   
"Then why did you let her remain if you think we are in danger?" asked the Princess earnestly.  
"We must find answers for this, Itarillë, and the only way to do this is to wait for her to heal."   
"And we must gain her trust," said Idril. "That is what I will do. Atar, perhaps her mind is not weakened, but we frighten her, so she hides under the cloak of illness."   
Turgon looked keenly at his daughter and then turned away to the night sky.   
"Let me win her trust." pleaded Idril. "You come to her armed, but if she sees a woman, unarmed, maybe I could obtain her confidence."   
She watched her father and then continued. "Glorfindel has no love for this woman, is that not so?"   
Turgon nodded.   
"Well, Glorfindel shall be present when I am with her and may forestall any danger," said Idril resolutely.  
The King turned and looked at his daughter with tender sorrow.   
"You are so like your mother, as fair as you are fearless, willing to face the greatest challenges and the unknown."  
Idril smiled softly. She remembered little of her mother, but Atar often said that she had the qualities of her mother, and the Princess was expected to run abreast with the memory of Lady Elenwë, as well as being an unconditional aid for her father.  
"Very well, my heart-whole, head-strong daughter," said Turgon fondly. "Tomorrow I will speak to Lord Glorfindel." he paused "May the Válar illuminate you, Itarillë, and gain you what none of us has won," he added, kissing her brow. 

***

Laura’s POV

'Since yesterday, shortly after Ecthelion returned me to the clinic, I was moved into a different room in the same building. Even though I was blindfolded, I couldn't feel the wind. Apparently, the King and his cabinet decided and should stay in the city, probably so I can 'recover.'   
Actually, I would prefer to be out the city. I'm sure Blondie would be happy with that as well. No doubt he even suggested it.   
But no. Now, I am a prisoner. That is currently the correct word to qualify my situation: I am a prisoner. I cannot leave this room. In the corridor, there are at least ten guards who rotate. From what I have seen through a hand-mirror I pushed under the door, they are from three different regiments. One is Eglamoth's; one is Ecthelion's and, finally, Blondie. Yay! Blondie just had to be involved.  
I can't complain… that much, about my prison. I have a comfortable bed, a chair, a dresser and a bedside table, as well as a large window that faces the gardens. I'm on the third floor, but if they think the height will stop me, they're very much mistaken. Unfortunately, the window isn't wide enough, and no doubt there are other guards in case I get it in my head to attempt escape.   
The food isn't bad, considering I am a prisoner. In fact, I don't need anything except one small item: my freedom.   
These elves are very considerate jailers and, one might say, kind; except Blondie, of course.  
Blondie is always on the defensive and if looks could clear, my healing factor would be very busy. Ecthelion and Eglamoth are nicer and try from time to time to get some reaction from me.   
The only reaction I want to give is to sock Blondie in the face and leave him with a black eye and a couple teeth less. His way of treating me, though it's not comparable to the Facility, isn’t exactly nice.   
Ah-ha! It seems I have a visitor. It's not time for dinner yet, and there aren't many people who want to spend one-on-one time with me. Oh! Blondie’s my visitor. I recognize his smell, but he isn't coming alone. Let's see who his friend is.’ 

***

When Lord Glorfindel had learned of his mission to attend the beautiful Celebrindal, the flower, and pearl of Gondolin, whenever she wished to visit the woman, he was enraged. How could Turgon be so blind as to put his only daughter in danger? But his reasoning did not sway either the Princess or the King, and so, against his will, he now escorted Idril to the prisoner's room. 

***

Laura watched Glorfindel enter, dressed in a grey vest and green tunic broidered with celandine, in some hope her empty stare might unnerve him. Behind the vacant look, her mind seethed with fury. The Elf considered her a danger, a menace and she hated him for it. It was not a lie. She was very dangerous, but he rubbed in her face with a constant reminded of the long, sad life she had led.   
However, her facade almost collapsed when she saw the beautiful woman who accompanied him. She had never seen a creature so absolutely lovely. Laura had met women of great physical attraction throughout her missions and among the X-Men, and she was fully aware that she was not a part of those elite. Physically, she was normal, even homely, but her past deeds and mutation made her ugly in the eyes of people. She was completely conscious of this and hurt her deeply.   
Why couldn't I be even a little bit pretty? she demanded inwardly. Why do people judge me so harshly for what I’ve done? She gritted her teeth. She knew the answer for that, and that it was only fair.   
Reminders of her unattractiveness and of the social condemnation she faced hurt her more than anything else. But Laura kept them fiercely barricaded in her mind, to prevent anyone from finding a weakness in a woman that seemed unbreakable.   
Nonetheless, when Laura saw the woman with such angelic beauty, she felt that her homely physiognomy was being thrown back in her teeth.   
Her fists clenched with rage for a split second, before she quickly relaxed. Laura was more than intelligent enough to realize that this heavenly creature was not to blame for anything, not the way society judged her, or the way she judged herself. 

***

Seeing the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, Idril approached the chair and sat down. Glorfindel behind the chair. His right hand gripped Culumaica's hilt and his eyes were locked on the firíma.   
"Good morn to you, my friend." greeted the Princess sweetly, a slight smile drawn on her lips. "I am Idril."   
Laura watched her expressionlessly.   
The Princess only smiled and laid a hand on her breast. "Idril. I am Idril." She gestured invitingly to Laura, but the woman made no response.   
Undaunted, Idril continued to smile with guileless warmth, that seemed to dim even the morning sunlight that came through the window.   
"Lady, we strove to reach her with such gestures, but-" began Glorfindel.   
Idril interrupted him. "I am well aware of that, my Lord, but it injures none if we try again."   
Still with an indifferent stare she had carefully cultivated to hide her concentration, Laura watched their lips move, paying attention to the phonemes they uttered, while her disciplined mind began to analyze and compare them with her knowledge of linguistics.  
At last, Idril drew a book from her woven girdle and leaned forward to show it to Laura. The cover was of soft leather, the title made of gilt lettering, and the delicate leaves were covered with many illustrations.   
Idril opened it halfway and held it out to Laura.   
"Take this," she said. "I think you will enjoy it, and this way," she added with an adorable smile. "You will not be wearied to death."   
Laura stared at the book, and then stood and approached the Celebrindal, inspecting her delicate ears with great attention. Glorfindel had drawn his sword, but the voice of the princess arrested him.   
"Calm yourself, my Lord Glorfindel," Idril said, without moving. "Pray, sheath your sword. There is no danger, she is only curious."   
"A curiosity that may be our downfall, my Lady," Lord Glorfindel replied, staring at Laura coldly.   
Idril did not look around, but though her tone was calm, there was an intrinsic command to the intonation. "My Lord, I ask you again, sheath your sword."   
Lord Glorfindel obeyed with disgruntled hesitation.   
Laura tilted her head, leaned over, and examined the Princess's lily feet with childish intensity.   
Idril smiled. The curiosity was childish it could not but win a smile from the sweet Princess. But though she smiled at the stranger, she did not allow herself to be beguiled, although she humored the woman. It was her intention to show kindness, so she might gain the woman's confidence.   
Finally, when the woman seemed satisfied with her inspection, she sat up and for a moment their eyes interlocked. Emerald met sapphire.   
The mortal's face showed nothing, but Idril read in the green eyes an emotion she could not name. There was a sudden spark of feeling and then it was gone, but it was enough for Idril. This woman felt as keenly as she did, but she was concealing it.   
With an impulse by presentiment, Idril put the book she had previously offered in the firíma's hand so that the mortal could not help but take it. The woman stiffened visibly and frowned, but the Princess only smiled pleasantly and rose to her feet.   
"Well met," she said in a friendly voice. "I hope you will enjoy the book." And bowing her head in farewell, she left the room. Glorfindel followed after a few minutes, with one last unfriendly glance before he locked the door. 

***

Laura’s POV

In all my life I have never seen anyone as beautiful as the Elf that just entered. It's not that I know many Elves, but this one is the most beautiful of them all.   
I assume she is the Princess. Her features resemble Turgon with the exception of hair and eyes. Her Queen mother is undoubtedly blonde and blue-eyed.   
And, of course, the Elvish names are very unique. Idril. What a strange name! Although considering the names of Ecthelion, Blondie, and company, it's much more beautiful.   
And speaking of Blondie. That guy will never forgive me for whatever I've done to offend him so much. Who knows why he dislikes me? He was about to attack me. He couldn't have done much damage to me with his little sword, however, nothing that my healing factor or claws wouldn't have solved. God, I'd love to see his expression when those come into play. That'd be the time to mark his pretty face for life.  
It was nice of Idril to bring me the book. This way, I will be rescued from royal boredom, and I can learn some things about this place.   
She was kinder than any of the other Elves. Apparently beautiful women have the most luck, they’re happier, they’re kinder ... at least the majority of the ones I've met are. If the equation to being happy only works if one the factors are being beautiful, I'll never be. I'm not beautiful on the inside or the outside. And no matter how hard I try, I can never get it. My past will always persecute me. People will always judge me. Sometimes I think that having left the Facility was a bad idea ... but there is something that always propels me forward. Xavier says that this is called 'hope'. Ha! Hope? I have hope to escape from here, I hope to know where I am and how it was that I arrived here, but ... hope that I will become like this Idril? No, never.   
It’d be easier for me to die than to become as beautiful as she is, inside and out.   
I'd better find a way to entertain myself or I'm just going to get depressed. When I get pessimistic, I have a bad habit of cutting myself, something these Elves wouldn't like to see. No doubt I'd get in trouble. 

***

Idril paced the wide streets thoughtfully, her hair and dress fluttering around in the slight spring breeze. As they approached the Road of Running Waters, where, on either side of the path, fountains uplifted their waters in a rain of singing crystal, Idril spoke,   
"Lord Glorfindel, it seems to me you are overly distrustful of the woman."   
"Princess, it seems to me you have not seen the darkness in her," answered Glorfindel resentfully.   
Idril had paused to lean forward, her face glistening with the spray of the fountains, but on hearing his reply, she turned around.   
"Nay, I think not." She answered   
Glorfindel strove manfully to get the Princess to answer, but she would not speak on the matter until she had found Turgon. They found him in the Tower of the King.   
"I have only just returned from Gar Ainion," he murmured on hearing them approach. "Have you found anything?"   
Idril shook her head. "Nay, little and less. But," she added after a pause. "Even a little may be of aid. I saw her eyes. I do not know what it is that I witnessed, but I believe it was sadness."   
"Sorrow?" asked Turgon.  
"I know not." answered the Princess thoughtfully. "I do know this. Something happened to her, something evil and because of this, she will not trust us. It will take us long to gain her confidence." 

***

Glorfindel entered the House of Healing, his good nature broken. The Princess' account was mad, and her every word had only fueled the blaze of anger burning inside his heart. This woman was putting in danger everything that he loved, the city he had helped to be built, the people had he helped protect.   
That woman had killed the Orcor, it had only been a double ruse to strengthen her protection and her lies.   
Trembling with inner anger, he stopped before the door, ready to confront her, when a voice halted him with his hand on the latch.   
He listened to the singing carefully. It was no Quendë who sang. The voice was full-toned, but not the ethereal descant of an Elf. That tongue was unknown to him. It was the stranger's voice. What was she singing? A spell?   
He unsheathed Culumaica and with his other hand, unlocked the door silently.   
Glorfindel looked inside. The woman was standing by the mullioned window, one foot upon the sill. She was singing softly to herself, slapping her hand on her upraised knee to keep rhythm to the melody. The mortal smiled as she sang, with all the simple joy of a little child, but there was an intense loneliness in her face that captured his attention.   
The song was not sad, at least not the music, for he understood nothing that the woman sang.   
As he sensed the song was drawing to a close, he closed the door silently and left, wandering through Gondolin's streets, buried in his thoughts.   
Perhaps, the Princess Idril was right. The mortal did feel… Maybe, maybe she was not the killer of the Orcor. Perchance she knew the true killer, or perchance she was wholly innocent, and he had been accusing her falsely……   
Glorfindel shook his head and then started. He had unconscious strayed into the range of a fountain, and the sudden shower drenched his garments.   
Stepping away, he hurried towards his home. He must think deeply about what he had seen. And he had to change his tunic.


	7. And why shouldn't I be able to understand you... Blondie?

Chapter 7: ‘And why shouldn’t I be able to understand you… Blondie?’

Turgon’s POV  
‘How sweet is the laughter of the children! I still can hear the merriment of my daughter when her mother and I played with her.   
With a mother's wisdom, Elenwë always knew what our little child needed. She knew how to heal her hurts when Itarillë fell, she knew how to sing the most beautiful melodies to lull her to sleep, she knew how to make her laugh, she even knew how to scold her from time. Itarillë was not overly mischievous, but like all children, she played pranks.   
Although my Itarillë grew to womanhood without a mother, she inherited all the features of my beloved wife. She is beautiful, she is sweet, she is wise, she is prudent ... she has achieved what none of us had achieved. Little by little, the firíma accepts her company.   
Ai Elenwë! If you only you could now see our Itarillë! I pledge my heart you would be proud of her. I have not been the father I should have been, but I have done my best. Even with all my failures, my treasure has grown as wise and beautiful as you, beloved by all the City.   
How I miss you, Elenwë! Why were the Válar so cruel to snatch you from my side when I needed you the most? Even now, after all these long years have passed, every time I see the snow I remember the night when I lost half my heart.   
I would have withered, but I had a little bud to care for, and you should know, Elenwë, that this little flower has blossomed into a beautiful maid. Idril Celebrindal: the flower and treasure of Gondolin, the one all love and admire.   
At this time, she is playing with the daughter of one of her ladies-in-waiting. I seem to see you again when you played with our daughter in Tirión.  
Itarillë has even inherited some of your gestures. When she is thoughtful, she rests her head into her little hands and her brow furrows, as you used to do. When she is trying to learn something, she wraps a strand of hair around her fingers until she comprehends at last. When she laughs, her eyes open wide before the song of her happiness makes my ears merry.   
But now, I have another burden upon me: the firíma. How I wish you were here by my side, Elenwë, to guide me! I would give all Gondolin to listen to your voice, to feel your Fëa intertwined with mine once more, to see your eyes.   
Because of long labor on Itarillë's account, the firíma no longer examines only her ears and feet. She spends hours every day speaking to the woman, although the woman answers not in word or countenance. However, our little flower is certain that we shall gain the trust of the firíma. She says that something terrible must have happened to make the woman so cold.   
One day, Elenwë, when Itarillë finds the one with whom her destiny is bound, she will be a mother as never seen before. If only you could see how she causes Nessawën to laugh.   
One thing I swear to you, adored Elenwë, that our little flower, our Itarillë will marry one worthy of her in every way. I pray to the Válar every day, and to the Lord of the Seas most of all, the one who guided me to this place, that they will never abandon our daughter '

***

Nessawën was one of the many Elven-children who played with the Princess Idril in her free time.   
She was the only daughter of Melimë, one of the Princess's ladies-in-waiting, and her favorite pastime was to listen to the stories of the Celebrindal and hear her sing and play upon the high harp.  
Above them, and unbeknown to her, the High-King often watched them, when Idril sang the songs he knew so well. When he did, Turgon returned to those golden days of bliss in Tirión, before bloodshed, before the seas screamed with the murder of the Swan-people, before darkness had overtaken them.   
By their own folly, they had followed Fëanor, the Kinslayer, and they had crossed the Pass of Helcaraxë, where so many had lost their lives. After his wife's demise, Turgon had longed for death, but his own heart did not allow to fade away, for there was one small being he must protest at all costs. 

***

In the depths of the garden, a beech tree spread long, low branches, thick with leaves that cast cool shadows on the green lawns below. Hidden in these shadows from the warmth of the midday were two Elves, one small, wreathed in flowers, and the other elegant, seated upon a low bough in front of her high harp.   
It was the child who cried excitedly. "Oh, another! Another, another, another!"   
Idril smiled, the sun and shadow dancing over her face. "But nirëa*," she said. "Your master will be looking for you."   
Nessawën shrugged her shoulders blithely. "I do not want to learn history, I want you to sing. Please! Sing me another one, pleeaaase?"   
Idril laughed aloud. The childish manner of asking charmed her, but she knew that the girl must also learn her history. "Very well, my little wheedler," she said, leaning forward playfully. "But only one."   
Nessawën nodded, but already she was beginning to think of ways, so she might never go to her lessons. Yet, if Nessawën believed that her scheme would go unnoticed, nothing was further from the truth.   
Before the Elfling could move, Idril seized the child and began to tickle her. The joyful laughter of the two resounded through the gardens.   
"Are you going to your lessons now?" The Princess demanded after a minute.  
Nessawën, breathless from laughing, stared at her, a look that Idril instantly understood, and yet she did not move when the child wriggled out of her lap and ran as far as her short legs would allow.   
The Princess stayed still for a moment in her place, giving Nessawën the lead, then sprang to her feet and gave chase.   
Nessawën was soon captured and tickled into submission.   
"Are you going to your history lesson?" repeated Idril, the child clasped firmly in her arms.   
At the first, the child did not answer, but final gasped between laughter. "Yes! Yes!"   
On hearing this, the Princess let the Elfling to the ground and took her hand to lead her to the palace.   
The marble inside was cool after the sun-warmed grass on their feet, and Nessawën's steps pattered on the floor. Idril walked in lightsome silence.   
They passed under a high arcade of alabaster and entered the library of Gondolin. The great room was roofed with a glass dome, and it was airy and full of light, although filled with deep knowledge and lore.   
"I bring you a truant, Lord Nolandil!" called Idril. An Elf of high stature, grey-eyed and dark-haired, with a countenance of a sage, turned from his work.   
When he saw the unkempt Elf-child, he regarded her gravely, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he saw her flushed face.   
"I see that is so, Princess, and I thank you for bringing her. If it were not for you, this little one would be hiding in every corner of the palace so as not to attend her lessons."   
"But such a thing will not happen, is that not so, Nessawën?" remarked Idril pointedly, looking down at the child, who had her curly hair all astray.   
Nessawën giggled, nodding her head.   
"Come, little one, we have much to study today," said Nolandil, taking Nessawën by the hand.   
"I will take my leave now," said Idril. "Goodbye, Nessawën. Learn much, for I will speak to your master to be certain you are studying your lessons."  
The Elf-child opened her grey eyes wide and gasped. She must study all that her master taught her carefully now, for fear of disappointing her royal playmate. 

***  
On either side of the hall, lancet windows stretched from floor to roof, letting the golden light flood in. Idril basked in it as went along, humming a tune softly to herself. It was a love ballad, telling of loss and gain, pain and final, lasting joy.   
"It looks that the daughter of Melimë is as unruly as a certain child that I once knew," said a male voice. Idril stopped her song and turned, before rejoining merrily.   
"Ai! No, Atar! I was never as wayward as Nessawën!"  
Turgon smiled knowingly. "Sometimes you were. Yet your mother always knew what to do ... just like you do with Nessawën.”   
The Princess smiled, but then said with tender concern as she saw his face. "Atar, there are tears on your cheeks. What troubles you?"   
Turgon looked away from the sunlight that had betrayed him. "It is a small thing, Itarillë ... watching you brought back memories of your mother. You are like her in so many ways."   
Idril stepped forward and hugged her father tightly, as if by some way the embrace could take away the grief. Turgon returned the caress for a few moments. At length, he kissed her golden head and said,   
"I have summoned Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and Glorfindel to a banquet, so we may speak about of the firíma. I must needs know their opinions, as well as yours, my daughter, so we can decide if we shall continue or consider another ploy."   
"Atar ... do you think that what I have done is not ... enough?" asked Idril slowly.   
"No, dear one, that is not so. Only, I must know what the judgments of all involved in this matter. Every Lord he claims to be wise must know what those in his council think."   
Idril nodded. She understood.  
"When will this repast be?"   
"This very night, within the belvedere in lily gardens."  
"Very well, Atar, there I will be," she answered. "Now, I shall go to walk in the city, if you deem it wise."   
Turgon smiled. "You know, Itarillë, that there is nothing can I deny you as long as you are kept safe."   
Idril smiled in farewell and left the hallway, her lily-feet hardly seeming to touch the chalcedony of the floor. 

***

In the foremost courtyard, below the Tower of the King, stood two figures, one the lithesome body of daylight, the other clad in night-colors.   
Set high on a pillared arcade, the Tower was built of white marble, the courts inlaid with ivory fountains that spilled clear, foaming water. Amidst the fountains stood Glingal and Belthil, trees carved of gold and silver by the King’s own hand, in memory of the Two Trees of Valinor.   
But the brilliance of topaz dimmed before the luster of Idril's hair and the radiance of diamonds were darkened with the brightness of her eyes. It was said that she was the greatest treasure that Gondolin possessed. Her beauty and character, her spirit and wisdom, had won the love of all.   
And her cousin, Maeglin of the House of the Mole, loved her most. Finally, Idril turned to meet his gaze. Maeglin was tall, pale as one who spends not much time in the light of Vàsa. His hair and eyes were black, his garments unblazoned sable. He looked weary though, and a chisel was still in his hands, for Maeglin was a tireless craftsman, the chief builder of the city.   
"Would you allow me to keep you company, Idril?" he asked, coming softly nearer to her.   
She did not turn her gaze from Glingal.   
"I prefer to walk alone, Maeglin.” She answered  
"Why alone, ettaresse*, may I know? It is a fair day, although never as fair as you. I could escort you to the Palace, and we might speak together."   
Idril breathed impatiently.   
"Maeglin, I prefer to walk alone and enjoy the songs of birds and flowers and fountains. And I reckon that you have matters of import," she added meaningfully.   
"None that could not wait," said Maeglin. "I have finished my last work of the forge; may I not enjoy rest with you?"   
"I delight to hear your work is completed, but I would prefer to be alone. For the rest, there are always matters to address within the House of the Mole. Surely, you would not wish King Turgon to believe you are neglecting your duties."   
The Elf-Lord could not deny such an argument, so he bowed.   
"You speak the truth, Idril. Forgive my intrusion. No Lord could resist the pleasure of escorting the Pearl of Gondolin, but they must comply with her wishes."   
"Your apology is accepted, Maeglin. Go, and care for your duties. As long as the city is safe in your hands, I shall be safe as well."   
"Without a doubt, Idril. I take my leave then." He left silently, his countenance unchanged, but in his heart, a storm of passions raged.   
Why did Idril always rejected his company? What had he done to make her stand aside? Finally, he took a deep breath, and into his deep eyes came a look of determination. One of these days, he would win the love of his fair cousin, and marry her. 

***

Many-hued lanterns of glass shimmered in the pavilion of the King. The summerhouse was built upon a green lawn, surrounded by the shadows of birch groves and the perfume of summer lilies.   
Through the coppice, came Princess Idril, her feet bare on the dewy grass. She was dressed in a robe of green silk embroidered with silver, the hanging sleeves knotted with opals, her hair wreathed with uilos. Around her neck, she had clasped a chain of pearls threaded with gold, the necklace of her mother.   
Stars twinkled in the depths of the blue skies, as she made her way through the glades. Within the pavilion, the Lords and the King were already assembled, but Ecthelion called out "Forbear for the Lady Idril!" at her approach. They rose from their places, bowing their heads in respectful greeting.   
Idril came up the steps and greeted them in the same fashion. "My Lords."   
Lord Egalmoth, nearest the Princess, seated her and the banquet began. The table was laden with autumn fruits and white bread, red wine and pheasant, sweetmeats and other savories.   
As they ate, those assembled spoke of unimportant matters: the birth of children, concepts the Elven Lords had created to train their guards, and other topics. When Idril heard Maeglin mentioned, her jaw tensed for a moment, an expression that passed unnoticed by all save her father.   
They spoke also of building other edifices, gardens to further beautify the City, until they came to the point of increasing the defense of Gondolin and the vigilance of its guards, which involved the question the Orcor company and the firíma.   
Glorfindel remained silent upon that matter. He had not spoken of what he had seen, although the mortal's expression had left him bewildered and disturbed.   
Finally, the King took the conversation into his own hands.   
"My Lords," he said. "As I told you before, I have called you to hear to speak of the firíma. I wish to know what judgment each of you has formed during these weeks."   
There was a short silence, and then Egalmoth spoke.   
"My Lord, I have not interacted much with her, but from what I have seen, we have made no progress in reaching our purpose."   
"Certainly, I am of one mind with Lord Egalmoth. The firíma has not changed as far as I can see," said Ecthelion. "At times, I wonder if she even observes the books and tapestries the Princess brings her. She appears to lose attention in them and leave them on the floor in a corner."   
Idril plucked a red grape from its stem and ate it thoughtfully, watching her father.   
"What say you, Lord Glorfindel?" King Turgon asked. "You have spent the most time with her."   
Lord Glorfindel remained silent for a moment. In his memory came the image of her looking out the window as she sang, as she sang with abandon, her loneliness adding eloquence to the words.   
"To be honest, my lord, I could not give you any definite answer," he said at last. It was preferable to continue pondering on what he had seen. "The firíma does not respond. No matter how long your daughter stays, or how much she speaks with her.... we speak with her," he corrected himself with bad grace, remembering the times Idril had cajoled him to speak. "She only stares at us."   
There was a silence.  
"Idril?" The King turned to his daughter.   
Idril laid down her cluster of grapes and looked around the table before answering. Her blue eyes, filled with discernment and foresight, expressed the fullest perception of the matter, and the minds of each of those gathered.   
"It is true that she had changed little, but perchance it is because she believes herself a prisoner."   
"She is a prisoner, Princess," said Lord Ecthelion gently. "We cannot allow her to roam through the City at her free will."   
Idril held up her hand in a gesture of silence.  
"I do not argue with the decision made by the Council, and I do not know the intentions of her heart, but she is locked away."   
"With all due respect, Princess Idril," said Glorfindel impatiently. "She is assigned to the most comfortable room in the House of Healing."   
"Aye, a gilded cage, but a cage at last."   
Lord Glorfindel regarded Idril in astonishment.  
"Pardon me, but do you truly believe that it would be wise to allow her to walk through Gondolin?" He asked astonished  
"No, indeed. We know not how the people would react."   
"So, what is your thought, daughter Idril?" Asked the King seriously.  
"I am aware the Healing Houses have herb gardens. Allow to go out into one of these, under guard, of course, but enough to restrict a sense of freedom."   
"My King, my Lady, my Lords," interrupted Glorfindel hastily. "We cannot gain the confidence of the woman at the risk of the safety of Gondolin."   
"My Lord, you have been me with me every time I visit. Have you noticed how she watches the window when she hears the song or sudden flight of a bird? She seeks, like every creature, to have some freedom!" said Idril hotly. "It would be unable and unworthy to deny a little to her."  
"Not some, but all." dared the Chieftain of the Golden Flower. "I believe she would flee the instant she was given a chance."   
Ecthelion, who had sat pensively during this exchange, spoke.   
"It is probable that escape is on her mind, but our guards could undoubtedly stop her. They will be posted all around the garden."   
“She could only put up a feeble resistance to our trained guards," suggested Egalmoth.   
Idril and Glorfindel remained silent, although both disagreed with the Steward of Gondolin.   
"Atar," pleaded the Celebrindal at last. "We must give her a chance, if only one."   
Turgon nodded his head in answer to his daughter.   
"She will be given permission to the central garden of the House. There cannot be anyone save you and a cadre of guards. She must be kept away from others until we have answers."   
Glorfindel did not answer, and Turgon noticed this.   
"Glorfindel, my friend, you have not been guarding the Gates for some time." He said  
"That is so, my King. I have had the honor of accompanying the Princess when she goes to visit the prisoner."   
"Now, I have another duty for you. You and your house will resume guard duty of the Seven Gates, in place of Lord Ecthelion."   
Glorfindel met the King's eyes and realized that Turgon was relieving him of an uncomfortable task.   
"As you command, my King," he replied gratefully.   
"Lord Ecthelion, you will take the place of Lord Glorfindel and accompany my daughter," said Turgon.   
The Lord of Fountains bent his dark head in obedience.  
Idril spoke again: "My lords, I would like to make another request."   
The Elven Lords were attentive to what the young Princess said. Despite her tender age, who wisdom was known to all.   
"Until now, I have been the only one who tried to approach her friendship. I now suggest that you all make the same effort." She saw the doubt on their faces and continued. "She will see you often, my Lords. You shall be the ones to question her one day, therefore, it would be wise to gain some of her trust."   
There was silence around the table. When the firíma was able to speak, the Council would be there to question her, and she would likely feel frightened and overwhelmed. The woman would need someone to trust, for the children of Men were frailer in body, mind and spirit than the Quendi.  
"My Lords," Idril continued winningly, at their indecision. "Until now I have not been able to speak to her, but I have noticed in her eyes a sadness. If she sees she has encouragement and sympathy, there will be a more desirable outcome."   
The King asked, " And how would we achieve such a thing?"   
"Speak to her, even if she does not answer. If you desire, I shall give you some of the items I bring her. It is not necessary to speak long abstruse mattes, but simple things. Tell her about the flowers and the birds in the gardens, and such subject."   
"Is that to say that you would not go to visit her any longer, my lady? "Lord Egalmoth asked with some trepidation  
"No. I will continue to go."   
There was a lengthy silence. None of the Elf-lords relished the idea of the princess. All three knew that the Flower of Gondolin was wise for her age, but even she could make mistakes. Turgon himself did not seem satisfied; but to his memory came the recollection of his wife. Most like she would have advised the same.   
"Let us strive to follow the advice of my daughter. At the least, we cannot say that we did not try by all safe means to gain the confidence of the firíma."   
Lord Ecthelion and Lord Egalmoth sighed reluctantly but nodded. They would do all their King commanded.   
Glorfindel watched the glass lamps sway and thanked the Válar the King had changed his duty. But his gratitude was too hasty, for Turgon added. "You as well, Lord Glorfindel. Once you complete your times at the Gates, you will also endeavor to gain the trust of the firíma." 

***

The banquet was ended soon after. The only affair left of interest was that Lord Duilin had gone to see Thorondor the Great and his eagles in the Crissaegrim. The Eagle-King had answered that they had not seen either Orcor nor a woman, but they assured the Elves they would redouble their vigilance.   
Lord Duilin and the cohort that had accompanied him had searched the Crissaegrim Range but had found no clue.   
With that discouraging note, Lord Ecthelion dismissed himself, followed soon by the other Elf-Lords. Turgon and Idril were left alone in the pavilion.   
The night was warm for autumn, and the hardier lilies still bloomed. But there was a cool wind coming from the mountains that promised a frost-blushed evening.   
Turgon had left the pavilion and stepped out onto the lawn, Idril at his side. He looked at her for a moment, and then at the night sky, studded with stars.   
"Something troubles you again, Atar." reproached the Princess.   
"We must speak of your kinsman, Maeglin. You made a gesture of displeasure when he was mentioned. Has he done something to offend you, Itarillë?"   
The birch leaves rustled chillily at the outskirts of the lawn. Idril watched them by the light of the gibbous moon. How could she tell her father that she sensed there was a darkness in him, and a danger? King Turgon loved and held in high esteem the son of his dead sister. His confidence in the young Elf Lord was so great that he often listened to his advice over the advice of older counselors.   
Idril sighed impatiently. "No, Atar, he has not insulted me. But at times…. I-I feel preyed upon, for he follows me around the city."   
Turgon knew the sigh meant that she was angry. "Itarillë ... Maeglin is your ettaréro*. He wishes to protect you, and he also wishes to have your friendship and light in his life. He has suffered much, my daughter. Perhaps you should be kinder to him."   
"Atar, I do not savor his presence," Idril said flatly.   
"Why?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Maeglin would never hurt you, nor any in this city."   
"Yes, but ..." protested Idril.   
"Idril," said Turgon sternly. "Be patient and understanding towards him. The other Lords respect him, and you as his kinswoman should do so as well."   
The Princess sighed again and turned away. He had called her Idril, showing there was nothing more to say.   
"The Válar bless your night, Itarillë," the king said tenderly, and departed, leaving Idril pensive and in an ill humor. 

***

Laura’s POV

Months have passed, and I am still a prisoner.  
I wonder if anyone, among the X-Men or the Facility, is looking for me. I highly doubt it, because surely, they would have found me already. Xavier should definitely have been able to have discovered me with ‘Cerebro’. Unless, of course, these Elves are also telepathic or have a helmet similar to that used by ‘friend’ Magneto.  
Whether they are looking for me or not, the point is that I'm still a prisoner. I am well treated, have decent room and board, and was allowed to go into the gardens a few months ago. Being locked in this room was about drive me crazy. I was ready to kill some of these pretty Elves: specifically, Blondie.  
Talking about Blondie, he hasn't come lately. It's been a relief for both of us, because if he had kept on calling, I would have certainly messed up his beautiful face.   
The Princess Idril keeps up her visits, escorted by Ecthelion. Friend Ecthelion is kinder, enough so that he won't win a black eye like Blondie.   
In fact, unlike Blondie, the good Ecthelion also tries to make me talk. And even Egalmoth makes his clumsy attempts.  
Among Idril, Egalmoth, and Ecthelion ... Idril is the best; Ecthelion has the second place and the third place goes to Egalmoth. And the last place is, of course, for Blondie.  
The gardens where I am now allowed to visit are very beautiful. These Elf guys know gardening. The horticulturists would be very welcome in any European palace.  
The truth is, I have never been a big fan of flowers, insects or grass... but it feels better to be outside and feel the breeze and see the clouds and the sky then staring at the ceiling of my bedroom.   
One thing that catches my attention, there is no pollution. The only other place I found like this was the Scandinavian Fjords, where I traveled in order to eliminate a few scientists, in a rather unpleasant way.  
To date, I have managed to maintain my facade of having no idea of what is happening. Although, from time to time, I have my suspicions that the infamous Idril has some idea about me. These are times that being a telepath would have been nice, so I could see what she really thought. She has some opinion about me, that’s a fact. She treats me deferentially. Deference that has a double intention: to gain my confidence and to get answers.  
Speaking of answers, I've been working very scrupulously on a very, very good alibi of what happened. If I tell the truth ... I'm sure these Elves try to kill me. But even if they couldn’t, they would still cart me off to a dungeon, which isn't an idea I particularly like.   
So, my alibi must be excellent, because I have to convince ten elves, including Blondie. And I'm sure the princess will also be there who, who seems to be a pretty intelligent Elf.  
I have my alibi ready now. It's said the bolder the lie, the easier people believe it. It always worked for me, we'll see if these rules apply with the Elves.   
I have also had time to learn their language. Idril and now Ecthelion and Egalmoth try to gain my trust by talking to me, and now I know their language. Not perfectly, but well enough to understand and have a conversation. I consider myself in something like level C-1 in Quenya, the native dialect, despite its complexity.   
Fortunately, no one has the slightest suspicion that I understand them. They talk about the Orcor, the things I killed; the firíma (ergo: me), my state of health, ... but usually what they tell me are banalities, which have their use. These trifles allowed me to learn their language. Which I must add that it is very different from any other I know.   
Ah yes! There's something interesting that I found out ... I'm in a city called Gondolin and it is hidden from everyone ... especially from a guy they call nothing but the ‘Unnamed’. Apparently, they're pretty scared of him.   
I am located in a valley called Tumladen that is surrounded by mountains called Echoriath. I also know that there is a mega huge eagle named Throndor, who is their lookout.   
I have searched through my memory for something about Gondolin but haven’t come up with anything.   
Anyway ... right now, I'm waiting for the right moment to show you Elves that this 'firíma' is not anybody. These bastards believed that Men, including me, are stupid and weak. But you will see! This ‘daughter of Men’ was able to learn your language just by listening to it. Oh, I want to see your face. But I'll wait to surprise Blondie with it ...I'm going to rub it in his face, teach him he can't treat me like that. Maybe I can't by force, but words do just as well when you know how to use them.’

***

Tumladen was white, and the trees drooped their snow-clad boughs. The world was silvered by moon and glittered in the day. Two moons had waxed and waned since the banquet of the King, and during that time the prisoner had not changed.   
When she was escorted to the gardens, she had at first shown interest in the plants and clouds, but after a couple of days, her interest had vanished.   
Little by little everyone had begun to despair. The king had asked Nestaë if there was any hope that the prisoner would speak again. The Healer had told him that the prisoner was in good health in body but weakened in mind. What Idril believed happened in the captive's past had put up a barrier. Glorfindel alone agreed with the Celebrindal.   
It was a sunlit morning, and by the pool in the garden, Egalmoth was endeavoring to get some reaction from the woman, but in vain. After an hour of fruitless labor, he was glad to see Glorfindel and Ecthelion arrive through the leafless willows.   
"My friends," he said, rising from the bench. "Has the King called a Council or are you coming to relieve me?"   
The Lords looked at each other reluctantly.   
"We have received orders, that since the Princess cannot come today, we shall keep her company," said Glorfindel, striving to keep his voice bland.   
"But we cannot talk to her!" cried Lord Egalmoth. "All these months have passed, and we have tried in vain!"   
"This was the King's command, Egalmoth," said Ecthelion wearily. "This is not something I relish, but the King's command is the King's command. Although they may appear meaningless," he added.   
"Meaningless?" Lord Glorfindel repeated exasperatedly. "We have all tried, and we have all failed!"   
"According to Nestaë, her body recovered physically, but her mind was damaged," said Ecthelion, trying to calm his hot-blooded companion.   
Egalmoth remarked gloomily, "So, she will never be able to answer our questions.”   
"Let us not lose hope, my friends," answered Ecthelion. He was the oldest Elf present, and the most even-tempered. " Perchance at some point, the Válar will remember us and we will achieve our purpose. The Princess had said this will take a lengthy amount of time." he continued encouragingly.   
"Time that we do not have," retorted Glorfindel sharply. The Elf-lord had more patience for the young woman after he had witnessed the scene, but he still was anxious for the City he had sworn to protect. "I do not care to dissent from the Princess' opinion, but our position is hopeless. She will never understand us."  
"And why shouldn’t I be able to understand you...Blondie?" demanded a female voice behind them.


	8. Before the Coucil

Chapter 8: Before the Council

"And why shouldn't I be able to understand you ... Blondie?" Demanded a female voice.   
Glorfindel spun round first, his eyes searching the snow-whitened gardens. The only creature there, besides his companions, was the firíma. His eyes widened with amazement. She was leaning forward on the bench, an insolent smile on her thin lips. On seeing his bewilderment, her smile broadened.   
"What?" she asked with affected innocence, getting up and coming towards them. Her feet crunched through the snow. "What's the surprise?" She laughed. "Wait, I know! Is it that a human......what's the catchy name you've given me.... ah, right, the firíma. Is that a firíma can learn the language of the amazing Quendi race?" Her tone was contemptuous now, cutting through the cold air like a knife.   
Ecthelion stepped forward to meet her. She stopped and crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him.   
"Who taught you to speak our tongue?" he asked evenly, his keen grey eyes searching her green ones.   
"You. Why, yes, of course, you!" she continued with a scornful smile. "The fact that I'm not a pointy ear doesn't mean I can't learn all by myself."   
Glorfindel's voice was trembling with anger.   
"It seems that you are not overly burdened with manners." He said  
She ignored him.   
"C'mon, c'mon!" she continued. "You spend your time, thinking, and what’s worse, saying that I am so inferior because I'm a human. Now I'm telling you what I think of you, in your own language. Do I have that right ... or not? Perhaps only the Quendi are entitled to it? I don't think so. Don’t you agree, Lord Egalmoth?"   
The Steward of Gondolin looked calmer than his Vanya companion. Although he lacked the age and wisdom of Lord Ecthelion, he had the sobriety to remain composed.   
"So, you mastered our language by listening to us speaking it?" Lord Ecthelion asked.  
The woman nodded.   
"All of you, especially Princess Idril, were very kind to teach me. Well, all except for 'Blondie'," she added, jerking a thumb at Lord Glorfindel.   
Ecthelion smiled tightly.   
"A 'blondie?' Would you pray enlighten we of the simple Quendi?"   
Laura looked at Ecthelion for a few moments, and then she switched her gaze to the Chieftain of the Golden Flower.   
"It's a person who just can't do anything right. In this case, I think the noun applies to our friend Glorfindel, who remains in a continuous state of stupidity."   
Glorfindel took a quick step forward, his hand on his sword-hilt, and Laura recoiled slightly.   
"How do you dare!" he shouted.  
Ecthelion pushed him back.   
Laura chuckled scornfully, adding fuel to his rage, but her eyes sparkled with fury:   
"How dare you treat me so badly, Blondie!"  
"Calm yourself, my friend," said Ecthelion, in a voice low enough for only his young and outraged friend to hear. He added in a louder voice, taking Glorfindel by the arm, "Egalmoth, care for her." Laura did not catch the whisper, but she smirked, guessing what they said.   
Glorfindel drew in a deep breath and turned to the woman.   
"This will not stay this way, firíma," he said softly, his tone low and dangerous.   
Laura's jaw clenched as she heard the name, but she answered him sweetly.   
"Oh no! Of course not, Blondie, of course not!" 

***

Glorfindel was silent as they hurried through the streets, but Ecthelion sensed his rage as clearly as if he had spoken. The young Vanya's knuckles were white as he gripped his sword handle, and his jaw was tightly clenched. His blue eyes narrowed as he looked back towards the Healing House, radiating fury.   
With a soft sigh, his breath white in the frozen air, Ecthelion looked around him. The frost-blushed evening smiled. The world was covered with silver, and all the trees drooped their branches like hoary fountains, while the very fountains of Gondolin were frozen as they fell. Vàsa spread arms of gold and violet across the sky, although her face was now hidden behind the Encircling Mountains.   
Finally, Glorfindel spoke.   
"She is a foolish woman, my friend. If she is half as clever as she believes herself, she will know my rank, and that I can influence the Council towards her downfall."   
Ecthelion stopped and looked at him.   
"She may be a foolish woman, but listen to me, my friend," he said, his voice soft but firm nevertheless. "Her anger is not wholly unjustified. You did not treat her nobly, but always with disdain. And you cannot deny it, Glorfindel," he added sternly. "Do you remember what you did in the sickroom on the first day, when she wished to see your ears? If you had would not have moved, she would not have fallen on her knees. Tell me that that was the lordly thing to do. Nay, my friend, I think you earned your unenviable epessë."   
Glorfindel's blue eyes kindled, scattering shards of anger. He swallowed hard before he spoke, but still, his voice was loud and indignant.   
"Now, you place the blame solely on my shoulders! You surprise me, Ecthelion!"   
Ecthelion answered gently "I did not say that. But I understand her hostility. Let me give you some advice, Glorfindel. She enjoys calling you 'Blondie', but you the less anger you show, the less she will savor it."   
"Let us go," growled Glorfindel. "My feet are freezing to the ground."   
He stalked away, under a high entablature supported by columns of chased silver.   
Ecthelion looked around him once more before following his friend. The fires of sunset burned low in the west, and towards the east, a thin sliver of the moon was rising, dancing on the snow.   
"Glorfindel," he continued. "Do not humor her by letting her see your anger. And let me speak to the King."   
The Vanya nodded curtly and drew a deep breath. The tinkle of unfrozen fountains inside the palace had helped diminish his furor for a moment, but he had not forgotten the firíma's insult. 

***  
Vàsa’s light had died away, the stars lending silver light to the sky. Inside the council-chamber, the star-sheen glimmered faintly, for the lamps were unlit.   
Ecthelion's voice died away into echoes, and Turgon's answer had grave tension and disbelief.   
“What!”   
"To what are you referring, my Lord?" asked the Lord of the Fountains cautiously. He had finished recounting what had befallen that afternoon, avoiding telling of the insult given to Glorfindel. By his side, Glorfindel stood, glad of the shadows to hide his anger.   
"Why has she revealed to us that she can speak Quenya? Only for childish reasons? That seems foolish." answered Turgon, recovered from his surprise. He looked at Ecthelion piercingly, his slender height emphasized by his tense posture. "This is dangerous to us. Although I doubt that any of us were so foolhardy, we may have said something ill-advised before her." He paused, and then said decisively, "Summon all the Lords of Gondolin to this chamber."   
The Elf Lords bowed when Turgon addressed the younger.   
"Glorfindel, I have noticed you were silent. Is there aught that troubles you?"   
Before he could reply, Ecthelion answered.   
"It was naught; only a small disturbance between the woman and Glorfindel."   
"Indeed." said the King, observing their faces for a response.   
"The firíma called him 'Blondie', which means half-wit or dullard," Ecthelion added no more, he did not think it fair to bring such matters before others. Glorfindel cast him a look of silent gratitude, that the King did not miss, although he remained silent.   
"I see," murmured Turgon. "Lord Glorfindel, my friend, put aside your anger and keep your mind clear. To make a fair ruling, we must be even-tempered and even-handed. Now, go summon the other Lords!"   
Lord Glorfindel bowed and left the king's presence.  
Both the High-King and the Lord of the Fountains stayed behind, watching him depart.   
"Do you have any bidding for me to carry out, my King?" asked Ecthelion once Glorfindel was gone.   
"Do you and Egalmoth bring the firíma to the counsel-chamber once we are gathered here," said Turgon.  
"Aye, my Lord. Will the Princess Idril be present? She understands the woman far better than any of us, and her counsel will be invaluable."   
Turgon smiled, proudly, tenderly.   
"Aye, the Lily of Loth-a-ladwen has done admirably. She will be here."   
"One other word of warning, my Lord. Do not place Glorfindel near the woman. She will insult him again, of this I am sure, and he is young and hotheaded. And, I think we will do well not to call her 'firíma'."

***

Laura’s POV

'To tell the truth, I simply could not resist. Those three elves so firmly believed that I was a lost cause and that they would never know the answers they want so much.   
How I enjoyed seeing their expressions. The stupid Elves who believed they were completely superior were taken down by a 'firíma'.   
Ha! Ha! I'm rubbing it in your pretty faces! Humans are so much more than you think. If you were so very intelligent and 'pro' you would never have given me the tools to learn your language.   
Of course, I must accept that they are so blinded by their arrogance that it didn't even occur to them that I, who have been trained to learn things like this, could use their "kindness" to get the upper hand.   
The expressions of those Elves were really for Ripley, but the one that had no rival was Blondie's. Oh, Blondie! So childish! LOL!   
How I enjoyed it, rubbing his own stupidity in his pretty face. I would have enjoyed it, even more, to rub in my claws and leave some pretty scars to remind him that NO ONE can treat me like that. I've been treated like this for more than ten years, and I think that's more than enough. And I will not tolerate a guy, who is more handsome than an angel and is more unbearable than a stone in the shoe.   
How it irked me I had to cringe when he decided to draw his little sword. I intend to keep doing it though; looking scared when the Elves play with weapons.   
Fortunately, friend Ecthelion could control him because otherwise he and I would have had a rather unpleasant moment. His pretty face would become a memory, and I would be in severe trouble. But the good Ecthelion managed to control his friend. No doubt that guy is much more reasonable than Blondie.   
Now that Blondie is going to be at the Council, I wonder how he will behave. Would he have gone to tell the king how naughty I was? Hahaha! I can already imagine it:   
'Oh my lord, the firíma called me' Blondie: stupid by nature!'   
I wonder what Turgon's reaction would have been. And, above all, what will be the of their Council be, because they are coming for me. Anyway, it's time to put my alibi in play... and tell off ‘Blondie’. Because if he thinks that because I'm in front of everyone I'll stop calling him that, he's very, very wrong.'

***  
The council-chamber was silent, although the King and the Princess were gathered there around the marble table with all the Lords of Gondolin. Many-hued lamps of glass burned, casting their shadows on the white-gleaming floor and pillars.   
The King had finished speaking, finishing with an admonition to avoid calling the stranger firíma, and all the echoes had died away when the doors opened. The mortal entered, accompanied by guards of the Heavenly Arch and the Fountains, their Lords at their head. She looked pale and frightened in the lamplight, and her pallor increased when she saw Glorfindel half rise from his chair, his hand on his sword.   
She was effectively weaponless for the moment, for she would not show her mutation, but her sharp tongue served her well enough.   
Instead, Laura crossed her arms defensively, her shoulders hunched over like a cornered animal.   
Turgon spoke first. The pose of the young stranger showed that she was both nettled and confused, and his wisdom told him that the most expedient thing he could do was stand firm, but, remain kind.   
"I have been told by the Lord Ecthelion--and Lord Egalmoth and Glorfindel verify this--that you have learned one of our tongues."   
"Yes," answered Laura shortly.   
"How was this?"  
"Why do you ask, Your Majesty? Surely these Elf-lords-" she waved her hand towards Glorfindel, who sat beside the Princess, "have already told you that it was you taught me your language."  
There was a tense silence at the audacity of the words.   
"Do you know who I am then?" asked Turgon softly, holding the woman's green-eyed gaze.   
"King Turgon of the city of Gondolin," she answered confidently. "I learned the names of you, Ecthelion, Egalmoth and Blondie first, thanks to you."   
Glorfindel flushed with anger. Idril laid a calming hand on his arm, her blue eyes arresting any action.   
"What then is a 'Blondie'?" asked Lord Galdor.   
"Why don't you explain it to them, Blondie? You'd know best of all," answered Laura, looking at the golden-haired Vanya.   
He did not answer, but the muscles of his arm tensed under Idril's constraining hand, and his eyes glittered.   
"Where I come from, a 'blondie' is someone considered stupid, and clumsy at any given moment. Although considering who I'm talking about, Glorfindel does not just have the characteristics of a Blondie for a moment, but it is his nature. Isn't that right, Blondie?" She finished with a mocking laugh.   
Glorfindel shook of Idril's hand and leaped to his feet, banging his fist on the marble table.  
"This is more than enough, firíma!" he shouted.   
"Firíma?!" repeated Laura. "Firíma?! Excuse me, Blondie, but this firíma learned Quenya on her own! So-"  
"Enough!" A voice thundered.   
Both the young Elf and the young woman turned sharply. King Turgon had risen from his throne, the Staff of Doom raised in his hand. His gray eyes flashed with an impatient light. The actions of both were unendurable, moreover when on this matter was hinged not only the safety of the City but the protection of his beloved daughter.   
"Enough!" Repeated the king, sitting down. "We have not met to banter insults. We want to know to have the answers you have hidden on us," Turgon said, gazing at Laura, who showed fear, some of which was pretended and some genuine. "Do you know that truth is the fairest thing to the Eldar. But liars we despise," he continued, fixing Laura's gaze in his own. "But surely you must know that, after all these months living among us, gathering knowledge about us. Who will you give that knowledge too? Who is your master? The Enemy?" he finished, his voice like steel.   
Upon hearing the accusation, Laura blanched and then frowned, truly insulted. Why would those stupid Elves make such an accusation against her?   
The Princess darted a glance at her father. The accusation he had made was terrible and could well be the ruin of the foreigner.   
Laura noticed the quick look. It was time to make a desperate gamble and play on the feelings of each of these Elves, including Glorfindel. Only by using pathos and lies would she be able to convince these stupid, and yet clever Elves.   
Laura had learned during the months that Elves were sensitive creatures. Their sensibilities were different from those of humans, but she had realized that Elves were more fine-tuned. What would be for a human an act of love, was for the Elves an act of friendship and goodwill. They felt everything more deeply, with overwhelmingly strong feelings that ran in rivers deeper than the sea, compared to man's shallow channel. She would use that sensitivity as well as the moral values that were so ingrained to her benefit.   
'Here we go,' she thought, drawing a deep breath. "Enemy?" she repeated, in feigned astonishment.   
"You know well who I speak of," Turgon answered coolly.  
"The most I know is that there is a guy that you call the 'Unnamed' and that, is your enemy. Apparently, it's a very powerful enemy because all of you do not want to leave this city for fear of this guy. And that's the only thing I've heard you say, alright?"   
"I have a doubt," interjected Lord Maeglin. He sat at the King's right hand. "Since when do you understand our language?"  
Laura shrugged, swallowing that unpleasant sensation she had every time his piercing black eyes were upon her. "About four or five weeks ago."   
"And what was the purpose of hiding it for this long?" asked Lord Duilin. "Surely that casts doubt on your defense of not knowing who the Unnamed is."   
Laura rolled her eyes.   
"Again, with that guy!" she said impatiently. "Look, not everything is connected to this 'Enemy.'"   
"And that shows how little you know, firíma!" snarled Duilin, his blue eyes hot and bright.   
"Oh, excuse me!" she sneered, her face hard with anger. "Excuse me for not knowing everything like the great Quendi do!”   
Turgon's voice rolled across the hall like the crash of thunder. "Hold your peace!"   
Duilin sat back in his chair and Laura scowled but bit her tongue.   
"We do not care to banter words with you." Said the king  
Turgon's pose was rigid as he stood, enraged at the actions of his Lords and the woman. It was clear to him she was enjoying this, and she had prepared her words beforehand. She was dominating them, manipulating them.   
But they were Elves, far above her in years, and he would not allow his people to do as she wished.   
"Look at me," he said. When she did so, he continued. "It would be wise for your own sake to answer my questions. If you consider us soft because we live behind our great walls, think again before you try to deceive us!"   
Laura nodded. The king's anger had at last silenced the room. Turgon let the hush continue for a moment more, holding her gaze locked in his own. "By what are you called?"   
"My name is Hwa-Young," she replied. "It means 'beautiful flower'."  
"The name does not suit her then," Glorfindel muttered.   
Laura kept her eyes trained on Turgon, but the lacerating whisper felt like a knife that had been twisted in her gut. Never before had she wanted to kill him as much as she did now. But she kept calm, knowing that any violence would ruin her alibi. Instead, she repeated her name, noting the quizzical glances it had gained. "Hwa-Young, my name is Hwa-Young. Apparently, our names are strange to you, as yours are to me."   
The King continued. "So, that is the naming custom of your people. Where is their land?"   
"North Korea."  
A murmur rose among those present. None had heard of it.   
Lord Ecthelion asked, "Where is this realm, North Korea?" He was the most versed there gathered in questions of geography and music.  
"Um ... north of South Korea? It is a large island."   
Turgon frowned. "How come you to this place, so far from your isle?"   
"I cannot answer the question, Your Majesty, because I don't have the faintest idea how," said Laura honestly.   
"And how should we believe you?" Penlod queried, his brow low and frowning.   
"Because I have the right to be believed!" Exclaimed Laura. "We all have the right to be given an opportunity to show who we are! Or have the Quendi forgotten what it is to be merciful? You think that Men are barbaric, but at least humans give an individual that opportunity!"   
Maeglin looked at her sharply, a flicker of emotion passing over his face. Laura noticed, and brightened inwardly. Here was a weapon she could use in the future.   
There was a silence. The words of the firíma could not be rebutted. The king who spoke again. "Do you remember the Orcor?"   
Laura shivered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.   
"Ye-e-e-s," she said hesitantly, her voice suddenly weak with the memory of fear. "If you mean those beasts, yes, I remember them well." She swallowed. "Th-they said they would do something to me. I-I didn't understand many of the words,--they switched between languages-- but they said something about....about eating me." She swallowed and looked up. "They weren't, were they?"   
"And how did you kill them?" Asked the King, pressing her, for she seemed to be confused.   
"Ki ... ki ... kill?" She stammered. "Me? I can't even defend myself!"   
Turgon looked at her impassively, pushing her. Laura recognized it and changed strategies.   
"You do not believe me, do you, Your Majesty?" She said, angrily. "Well, believe what you want! If you want to lock me in the dungeon for life, I don't care! What's left for me? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! The only thing that remained to me was the hope of living in a country that was different from mine, peaceful and... you have destroyed that hope by imprisoning me in a golden cage!" she said, raising her voice while her eyes filled with tears. "So, go ahead! Shut me up. There is nothing left to lose." she finished in a muffled voice.   
"What do you mean you have nothing more to lose?" Asked the Princess softly.   
For a few minutes, the young woman did not answer. She hugged herself, her gaze cast on the floor, and then began to speak slowly.   
"My country of origin is called North Korea. When I was a little girl, it was governed by the king who was just, and we had what we needed. It was a place where one could be happy. But, as you say, the race of Men is mortal, and one day they die. That happened with the King, and his son Kim Jong-un ascended the throne. Unlike his father, he was terrible, cruel, ambitious. His rule changed the life of all Korean people, and we all suffered under his cruel regime.  
“He immediately started looking for all those who stood in the way and those whom he considered a danger to him and his government. That person and his family were sent to 'labor camps' where they were forced to work all day doing almost impossible tasks and were given very little food. It was said that they continued working without rest until their clothes fell to pieces. After this, the guards of the 'labor camps' killed them, but they tortured them first, and raped the women...." Her voice trailed away, gauging the response of her hearers before she continued.   
"My family and I lived in the capital of the country, Pyongyang. My father was Chin-Mae; my mother, Hwun-Ok; my older brother, Chung-Ae; and myself, Hwa-Young.” Laura paused. "We lived happily. My father was a rich man, but he was not greedy or deceptive. In fact, he was known for living up to his name which means: the one who always speaks the truth. We Koreans attach great importance to the meaning of the name because it shows the nature of the person.  
“My mother was known for her beauty and her wisdom, so there was nothing odd about her name meaning 'beautiful and wise pearl'. As for my older brother …he was noble and tender with me and with my parents, just as his name means. He ... used to tell me stories and sing me to sleep." Laura finished with a smile of false and tender sadness.   
"And what befell your family?" The king finally asked when he saw that the woman was not continuing.  
"Kim Jong-un, after having imprisoned or killed all those who could be dangerous towards his career, dedicated himself to... hunt down all those who were rich. And that included us. We had to flee from city to city, so we would not catch us, but each time they were closer to us and at any moment we would reach the point where there would not be a place to hide. It was then that my brother came up with the idea of leaving North Korea and taking refuge in any other country. But fleeing the country included what would be many dangers. We had to cross the sea and we would not find a ship to take us since the government had described us as criminals.   
“In addition, we would have to cross a part of the territory of China's kingdom of China that known for its dangers. There were many agents hiding in the forest, working for Kim Jong-un to take ambush fugitives from North Korea and take them back to hell.   
Assuming we went to this place, there was no place to buy food because the villages there were afraid of the Chinese who worked for the Korean government.   
"And as if that were not enough, to get out of the kingdom of China, we had to go through a border guarded by a band of outlaws who were not only dedicated to theft but rape. It was said that if a woman enjoyed her rape, she would stay as their prisoner...." she trailed off, her green eyes seemed to have fixed on a distant point, but her disciplined mind and training as an assassin allowed her to identify the varying emotions of the Elves.   
"My mother," she continued after a few moments, "My mother did not agree to this plan because I was in danger of this fate. She would not allow her virgin daughter to be assaulted. But finally, my father and my brother convinced her. So, we put together the little money we had left as well as our belongings and we commenced the trip.  
“Through an old friend of my father, we got a boat, that hardly floated. It was the only way to go unnoticed by the continuous ships that patrolled the sea.   
"Fortunately, we passed without notice, but just when we though Luck was smiling on us, a storm began. We were sailing a rickety boat that had no more than three oars, and a shirt of my father as a sail.   
“The waves were huge, the sky was black, the lightning dazzled us, and the thunders deafened us. The voices of my father and my brother were barely heard. Suddenly, a huge wave came down on us. What followed I hardly remember it ... water, screams, confusion, the terror of drowning. When I finally got my head to the surface I was totally alone. I was sure I would die and for a moment I thought about letting myself be pulled under by the sea current, but I remembered the courage that my parents and my brother had taught me. So, I chose to swim to where, according to my knowledge, the beaches of China were.  
“A few hours later I saw two more people swimming. It was my parents. We were barely able to get together and all night long we were struggling to keep afloat in the middle of that horrible storm.  
"The next day we reached the beaches of China, but ... where was my brother? Terrified, we looked for him, only to find him a couple of days later... washed up on the shores of a fishing village ... drowned." She dropped her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.   
"Why did Chung-Ae have to die, why?" She asked herself, sobbing softly "Why did he have to drown? He was the best swimmer I have ever met ... he had taught me how to swim! Why did he have to die? Why not me..." There was a rawness to her grief that Laura had perfected, like the pain was still an open wound. Her body shook as she tried to stifle the sobs. She saw the Elves looking at her with compassion and pity, and even sensed a little in Glorfindel.   
The King addressed her in a softer voice. "What happened then?"   
Laura swallowed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.   
"It was only by luck that we went unnoticed by the Chinese agents who returned North Koreans to their country. In the village where we found my brother, they gave us food to continue our flight.   
“The next part of the journey was a dangerous swamp, dangerous because of the many snakes and assailants. We had joined a couple of families who also fled from Korea. They thought to go to the forests of the kingdom of Russia and from there, take a train that would take them to Europe."   
Lord Rog broke in, "What is this train?"   
"It is a very fast means of transport. You can travel for hours without stopping." Laura frowned in surprise. "You don't know what a train is?"   
"We do not know," Turgon replied, "but continue with your account."   
Laura nodded. "The night was dark. We were frightened to walk because we might sink into mud or be bitten by a snake, so the group decided to light torches.   
“My father told them that this was very dangerous and that the assailants who lived there would discover us more quickly because by then he was sure that they were following us. It was a feeling that he had and ..." She laughed mournfully. "And whenever he had a feeling, it always turned out to be true. This occasion was no different. They cornered us. All those who resisted were killed and the others were tied up and taken captive to the attackers' camp.   
"We were halfway there, and our captors were taking a rest when my father managed to cut the moorings and freed me and my mother. He told us to flee while he and other men would rescue the others and if they could, they get the weapons. It didn't go as plan. My father was a businessman, and our captors were men who had fought and killed their whole life. My father was wounded in the back while we fled and died in our arms. His last words were: 'Be strong for me and for Chung-Ae.’  
"My mother and I didn't know what to do. It seemed unreal that our family was disappearing......dying one by one. But the yells of the assailants reminded us that we were still in danger, so leaving the corpse we fled through the swamp without stopping until we reached the border."   
Laura paused, and took in another breath, blinking quickly. She saw that the Princess was looking at her with tender compassion and felt sure she had gained at least one ally by this fiction.   
"For several days we traveled with a small group. We tried desperately, my mother and I, not to fall into the hands of the mercenaries, but it was impossible for us. One afternoon, when my mother and I were watching the sunset, the mercenaries attacked us. They killed the men and took the women to our camp, taking us further away from Russia. There ..." Laura lowered her voice almost to be imperceptible. "I saw ... I saw ..." Her green eyes brimmed with tears. "It was the worst place I've been!"  
"Did they ...?" Asked Idril, leaning forward.  
Laura shook her head, tears running down her cheeks.   
"Not to me, but ... to ... to ... my mother ...!" The tears overflowed her voice; it was thick when she spoke again. "They forced me to see and I ... they told me it was me or her ... My mom chose to stay as their slave and me... I saw ...!” Laura began to mourn inconsolably. She covered her face with her hands, but between her fingers, she did not lose sight of their faces. That lie had had a better effect on them than she had thought it would.   
Turgon gave her time to control her sobs.   
"How did you get here?" he repeated. His voice was no longer fearsome, but compassionate, although his gray eyes never left the sobbing woman.   
"I do not know," she answered at last. "When they were busy ..." she took a deep breath, screwing her eyes shut as if to lock out the memories. "I took a horse and used the knowledge that my father had taught me about the stars and constellations. I headed north without stopping; I forced the horse to keep running until he fell dead. Only then, I thought I was far enough away from those ...Now I only had to cross the forest to get to the village and from there take the train that would take me to Moscow, which is the capital of Russia. From there, I planned to go to either Finland or Denmark. There I would be totally safe, they are very beautiful kingdoms and there was an opportunity for me to start a new life ... or so I thought."   
She frowned, narrowing her eyes as if to recall all details.   
"When I was walking, I suddenly smelled something horrible and shortly after I saw some horrible beings who said that it looked like my flesh was fresh. I do not know how it was that I understood them, but I was so scared I ran. These monsters, Orcor, you call them, followed me. Then ... then I remember that I hid in the hollow trunk of a tree and then ... I heard the noise of fighting. And then nothing. Finally, I dared to leave, and I saw that everyone was dead ... or so I thought because suddenly, I felt something stab me in the back.   
“I ran, I ran......I don't know about the Orcor, but I do know that whoever shot that thing wanted to kill me." Laura rocked back slightly, her eyes wide like a fearful deer. She hugged her arms, trembling with that terrible memory.   
"It's possible," the king answered. "However, he did not succeed. And he did not follow you, for we found you hurt. After which, you healed yourself."   
"Yes. All Korean women have that ability… our body heals itself like that. It is something we have for protection when we birth a baby." Laura added deliberately, knowing that that matter was very important to the Elves. "Korean men have physical force too; they can carry heavy stones," she added to show she was eager to give answers.   
"So, you have no clew as to who could have killed the Orcor?" Lord Ecthelion asked, returning matter that had the greatest consequences to him and his people.   
"Not even the remotest idea. As I told you, I can't fight. You heard how I've lived......do you think I would stay to watch someone fight? I fled and hid. That's how I've survived so far."   
"We must consider this matter. We will summon you when we have a final answer," said Turgon in a kind voice, but one that brooked no reply.   
He rose from his throne, and Lord Egalmoth and the guards led her away from the chamber.   
Laura smiled inwardly as she was taken back to her room. She knew perfectly that she had succeeded in deceiving those Elves, and even more, moving them to compassion. Her training had been good, yes, very good. Now, it was only a matter of time before they let her go.


	9. Not 'exactly' what was expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Laura, thanks to her training, managed to manipulate the Council and made them believe her alibi. But what will be the reaction of them?

Chapter 9: Not ‘exactly’ what was expected

Laura’s POV

'The Elves were easier to manipulate than I thought. I never imagined that I would be able to move them to such a degree… I even moved Blondie, despite the fact that I insulted him in front of everyone.   
Ha! How I enjoyed that moment! To see his pretty face flush with anger at my rudeness. Yes, rudeness. Because if there's something that characterizes me when I'm angry or when I'm just not in the mood, I'm quite rude and insolence. I know just how to choose words so that they hurt or anger people. It’s a special knack of mine.   
I must admit that Turgon turned out to be a different type than I formerly thought. I believe that Turgon is the only one on the list, apart from the director of the Facility and Xavier, who managed to shut up an entire room. He was almost intimidating. The anger in his eyes was not exactly reassuring.   
I give you that, friend Turgon. You know how to impose your authority on everyone, even your Elf-Lords and a mutant like me.   
I wonder if Idril will have inherited that trait.   
I believe I had found out a weapon in my favor. The Queen was not present, which leaves me with two options. She is seriously ill, which is improbable because the case would be in Nestaë's hands, and I would most likely know about it, or the King is a widower. If this is the case, it would give me a great advantage.   
Of course, I must use this wisely, because if I put his Idril in danger, he will kill me. Ha! Or at least he will try. Even if these Elves are indeed the firstborn of Zeus as they believe, they won't be able too.   
But now, I know an argument, in case they try to restrain me. 'Please, if you let me go, Idril will be safe.' Surely that will encourage them to let me go with a fuss. They may even have their mega-eagle guardian leave somewhere away from the Echoriath.  
Another very interesting weapon was the gesture of the goth Elf...... Maeglin. Something must have happened to his mother, for when I mentioned my 'mother', he flinched.   
There is some resemblance between he and Idril, so they are relatives, but not brother and sister. This may be useful at some point, especially because he has an important place in the Council, at the King's right hand.   
As for the others, there is not much to say. They were extremely moved. As I predicted: these guys are extremely sensitive, in their own way. And their family values are highly prized, so the little story about my 'father' and even more my 'mother', was a nice touch, really a nice touch!   
I made a good performance, I'm sure I could have duped Remy or Logan.   
One other thing that also plays in my favor is that these Elves have spent a long time hidden in this place. This is an advantage because they only know that bad things are happening out there, but since they don't have the precise knowledge, they are very gullible. It's like they're in a glass bubble. Although they are intelligent in many things (however much I do not like them, I have to give them that); but being in their bubble makes them gullible and naïve. Those qualities may be good things at times, but not when you meet someone like me.   
Anyway, let's see the result. God, I want to get out of here! Being allowed only in the bedroom and the garden and being watched all the time at that is making me sick.’ 

***

Idril’s POV

‘Now I understand many things.   
Alas for the mortal woman. She has suffered so much. She too has lost her mother, and how terribly! This explains the sadness I saw in her eyes, it explains many things.   
I have not had close dealings with any Man among the Second Born: the Atanatari Húrin and Huor did not remain here long and I did deal much with them, but I do not wonder at my father's distrust now.   
Nay, I do not trust the children of Men, but not everyone is evil. To send the woman on her way would be a death penalty for her, for she could be found the evils that lurk in all shadows.   
My voice, if no other in this chamber, will be raised on her behalf. Perchance, I may aid her, lighten her suffering. 

***

Glorfindel’s POV

'The tale of the firíma is a tale of pain and woe, and above all, loneliness. Now I understand her expression while she was singing, moons ago. Mayhap she was singing a song that her older brother or one of her parents taught her, it was her way of comforting herself. It seems the Princess was right again, that there was something fearful that befell to her, and she hid away under a cloak of illness.   
I feel regretful of having treated her so coldly, if her tale is indeed true. If it is, I can comfort myself that the unkind way I treated her finally led her to speak. That makes the name 'Blondie' a morsel more bearable. Hútath! For the moment, I shall strive and be even-handed.   
Nevertheless, what still concerns me is the knowledge she had to have to learn our tongue. How many more things has she learned while feigning to be weak-minded? She was able to mislead Nestaë! And that, in such matters, is no child's play. I would say it was nigh impossible.   
It will be best for all if she stays in the City. Although it will embitter my life considerably, it is more desirable than running a gauntlet of danger. 

***

The stars were pale in the predawn darkness; soon did the blossom of dawn promise to flower, as Lord Egalmoth returned to the Council Chamber.   
The King spoke once he was seated.   
"My Lords, the night grows old and soon morning and our duties will be upon us. We have heard the tale of the firíma. Many of our questions have been answered, but not to our satisfaction."   
Lord Galdor answered,   
"All your words are truth, High-King. We still know not how she found the Hidden City."  
Duilin's bright eyes searched the countenances of all present, but returned to the grave, keen face of Turgon.   
"My Lords, none here know the realms she has spoken of. We cannot unriddle how she arrived her if we do not know her birth-land. Peradventure she is lying!"   
Lord Salgant leaned forward, the jeweled rings on his fingers flashing in the lantern light.   
"Lying?” He repeated “my Lord, surely you cannot think the woman was trying to deceive us! Surely, you saw her sorrowful state."   
"Aye, I saw it, Salgant! It is true that she shed many tears, but tears do not signify truth! Have we grown so slow behind our walls that we witlessly bend to the manipulations of a strange!" rejoined Duilin hotly.   
A clear female voice challenged his claim.   
"And, my Lord of the Swallow, are you sure she is false?"   
Princess Idril sat straight and repeated her question with quiet dignity. "Are you certain she is false? Do you know her so well?" Before the Elf-lord could speak, the Celebrindal continued. "My Lords, I have among all of you have been with Hwa-Young, as she names herself, the most, and I have seen several times a great sadness in her eyes. Sadness that for a few trice’s, she could not hide. Now I see why."  
"So, you think, my daughter, that the firíma speaks the truth?" asked the King.   
Idril turned to her father. "Yes. The sadness in her eyes was true."   
"Pardon my insolence, Princess," dared Duilin, a leap of anger quivering his words. "But grief can be feigned. You cannot be certain."   
"I am certain!" answered Idril fiercely. "I know grief, I know it too well. It cannot be dissembled to my eyes."   
Duilin did not reply.   
"My Princess," began green-clad Galdor gently. "Have you spoke to her of how you came by your first grief?"   
Idril shook her golden head.   
"Nay. Indeed, at no time have any of us made mention of our families or what we have suffered."   
"That is the truth. The woman does not know of our past," said Ecthelion seriously.   
Turgon frowned. "And is this your opinion, Lord Egalmoth?"   
"It is. I believe she knows naught about the Enemy, save his name. And she knows little of the Orcor...."   
Duilin answers him, strengthening his argument.   
"And yet she says she understands their foul speech. If that is so, either she lies about understanding or it was a slip of tongue, and she is well-acquainted with them!"   
The King raised his hand to hush the fiery Lord of the Swallow.   
"You have not dealt with children of Men, but they are also able to understand, some of the Orcor tongue. They speak much in the Common Speech, although it is distorted. She may have understood a few words."   
Lord Duilin clenched his teeth. How could his fellows be so callow, so trusting? The story she had told them was heartbreaking, it had affected him, but it was not true!   
"These realms she mentioned: South Korea, Russia, China, North Korea," Lord Rog said with perplexity. "Lord Ecthelion, have you heard of them?".  
The Warden of the Great Gate shook his raven head. "No," he said simply.   
"There are kingdoms to the far south, removed from our borders," said Lord Salgant. "She may come from here?"   
Galdor seconds this, saying "That seems sound. And it the better for us to be separated from Secondborn who serve the Unnamed."   
Penlod frowned slightly. "Then are there still Men pursuing her?"   
There was a silence. If Penlod the Tall spoke aright, the Elves would be forced to deal with cruel men. And while they were thus engaged, some spy may find the City, and tell his Master.   
"I think not," said Lord Maeglin finally. "She is a long way from the camp of those..." He did not finish, but his black brows were lowered. The flight of the firíma and her mother reminded him of his own flight from the dark woods, and the death of his beloved mother: The White Lady.   
"Is that your counsel, sister-son?" asked Turgon. Maeglin was wise, the wisest among the Council, despite his youth.  
Maeglin addressed the Council.   
"Yes, gracious King. These men, perceiving that they have in their power the mother, and seeing that this one has fled far, they may believe she has arrived at the Kingdom of Russia. They will not risk an attempt to recapture her; there is no advantage to that."   
"And what of the Orcor?" said Duilin, his arms folded across his chest.   
"That is what I could not say, Lord Duilin because my surmises do not amount too much. But the firíma could not have been answerable for that. Surely you see how she recoils from weapons?"  
"The Orcor gore on her hands," said Lord Rog shortly. "How do you read that?"   
"My Lord, if she crawled away through the corpses of her attackers, her hands would be dirtied with their blood."  
There was another pause. Dawn glowed in the east, rose and gold. It was coming into full-flower, and its light fell on the faces of those present.   
Turgon fastened his grey eyes on the blue gaze of the half-Vanya. "What is your counsel, Lord Glorfindel?"   
The Chieftain of the Golden Flower was silent for a moment, while eyes were fixed upon him.   
Now that the Elf-lord knew the history of the woman, he understood the reason for the great loneliness in her eyes. He himself was not surrounded by companions. Certainly, Gondolin loved him for his services, and he had friends stout and true, but for the most part, he sought retreat in arts of war, or in music. He was skilled with the flute, and more so with the lyre. He had no family. His father had died in the Battle of Lammoth, and his mother passed soon after out of grief. Ere her blue eyes could behold this small Tirìon in Middle-Earth, in the green grass sea, she had lain down and died, leaving him alone. In this way, he saw himself mirrored in the woman, although her slight stood in the way of defense and even friendship.   
For a moment, he thought of speaking of her song, but he refrained for a reason he did not know.   
"Like all of you, my Lords," he began, slowly, choosing his words with care. "I am perplexed at the idea of kingdoms that are so distant and so evil, a true scion of the Enemy's darkness. Assuredly, Lord Maeglin's argument is sound and it seems to me that my accusations against her were unfounded, which I hope." He took a breath, looking at Idril. She was watching him closely, a pleased smile playing around her delicate lips.   
"What still appears most baffling, is that if she did not slay the Orcor, who did? Because Quendë the warrior was not, the footprints showed that. They were marks no Quendë would leave, even less a Quendë so war-wise."   
"You mentioned before that it seemed the warrior tried to cast you off his trail, but when you stayed on the track, you found the firíma," said Duilin. "It seems to me that the evidence of your eyes does not lie. The woman has had many months to fabricate a well-thought falsehood."   
"I am rather of the idea, my lord, that the warrior first tried to take her away, but seeing her wound, chose to leave her where he knew she would be found," answered Ecthelion. "Perchance he carried her to the place, and the tracks looked unlike our own because of her weight."   
Lord Salgant said again, "This is not without reason. A Quendë, and even perhaps an Atan, would do such a thing for mercy. He has also done us a great service by slaying the Orcor and preventing any spies from returning to the Unnamed." He looked to the King as he spoke.   
"Certainly, my Lord Salgant," Turgon answered. "But why would he then flee? After having done us so great a favor, he would know he is safe and certain to be welcomed within our walls."   
"Not all Quendi are welcome here," replied Lord Rog. He spoke of the sons of Fëanor, but Maeglin's face darkened, for neither were the Dark Elves welcome and still less the sons of Men.   
"Is it likely that this warrior remains in Tumladen?" asked the King, looking to Duilin, who shook his tawny head. "Nay. Thorondor, Lord of the Eagles, and his folk have searched all the Valley and even the Encircling Mountains. A cadre of my Swallow-archers guard every corner of Tumladen. None can escape their eyes."   
"Then the warrior left the firíma in our hands, so we would heal her," said Idril.   
"Your warrior is very kind for one who slew the Orcor in such a ruthless manner," answered Lord Duilin bitterly.   
"And why not, my lord? War is one thing. It is another to aid those who are wounded. You are known for your courage, and your great skill with the bow, and yet, at the time of helping the hurt ... are you willing to support the healers? "  
Lord Duilin looked at Idril. Her cheeks were bright with defiance and the roseate light of dawn and defiance, she dared him with her blue eyes.   
"Princess, you are wise and fair. But peradventure, because you seek to see all things as they should be, you may be blinded towards darker things."   
"Or perhaps, my lord, you see darkness in all things." Lord Maeglin sharply retorted, his firm, fair voice penetrating. "Idril is right. We are all warriors, we are all well-versed in the art of war, but do we know what it is to be compassionate? The firíma spoke at least one truth. Belike, the Quendi do boast wisdom higher than the Secondborn. Let us, therefore, see that the warrior saved her, believing aright that we would treat with kindness as well as healing her."   
"So, your counsel, Maeglin, what is it?" Asked Turgon, looking at the one whom he considered his son with a clear and piercing gaze.   
"We do not know where the realms she speaks of are. Taking her to Russia would be a futile risk that would weaken our defense of Gondolin. Since the firíma is searching for a safe haven, where there is no danger of life or limb, she may live among us, as long as she observes the laws of our realm, and this one most of all. Nobody may leave the Hidden City, once they have entered. Here she will be safe, which is what she wishes; we will be safe, since she cannot leave and by any means, through torture, free will, or a babbling tongue, reveal our City."   
King Turgon nodded in approval.   
"My lords? What do you say?" he asked  
"Lord Maeglin's rede is full of wisdom," quickly answered Salgant, who fawned upon the young Elf-lord "Being among us, we can watch her, and at the same time, she is safe."   
"I second Lord Salgant," said Egalmoth. "Although I will add a word of warning. She is strong-willed and has a hot temper."   
"Indeed," Glorfindel muttered.   
"And what of you, Lord Duilin?"   
Duilin raised his falcon eyes to his King.  
" Although I would rather that we leave her on the outer sides of the Echoriath, as Lord Glorfindel once thought, I will do the will of my King, but I do not yield my heart." He said   
"Nobly spoken," murmured Idril across the table.   
"Aye," said Glorfindel, nodding at Duilin. "I once thought we should do the same, but I have been given wise counsel. Perchance you think that we are housing our enemy, but we do not have many alternatives."   
Duilin looked hard at Glorfindel.   
"Do you think then that she is our enemy?" He asked  
"Never was preparation for the worst unwise," was Glorfindel's neutral observation.   
Lord Rog raised his eyebrows at the remark but said, "I am of the same mind as Lord Glorfindel. We cannot leave her, nor can we take her to Russia. If she remains within the city, there should be with an escort of guards at all times."   
Galdor spoke next. "Wise words," he said in his soft voice. "Although let us bring a request for the Great Eagles to redouble their vigilance in the valley."   
"And to redouble the guard upon the Hidden Way, so if the warrior returns, he will find he cannot enter." continued Lord Penlod.   
The King turned his daughter. "Idril?"   
"The firíma should stay. Whether she speaks the truth or not, it is the best decision. She will be safe, as you say, and the City will run no danger of being discovered. However..." Idril sighed softly. "I am of the same mind as Lord Maeglin. Allowing her greater freedom will help both her and us."   
"May I add something else, my lord?" Maeglin asked the king  
"Speak."   
"My cousin, Princess Idril Celebrindal, speaks with great wisdom. If the story the woman told was a falsehood, having her close and under our watch will allow us to know the truth. Time will confirm what the firíma has said. For, the children of the Secondborn are mortal, are not they? In addition, perhaps we can learn more of both their ways and that wondrous healing of the body."   
The Elf-lords and the Princess watched the King, awaiting his judgment. Most agreed that the girl stayed in Gondolin for the rest of her days; the only Lord wholly apposed was Duilin.   
They had been moved by the sad tale, but compassion was one thing and trust was another. She would have to spend time in their midst, before they truly knew Hwa-Young was, and if she could be trusted.   
Finally, the King spoke. "Lord Egalmoth, bring the firíma to us once more." 

***

In half an hour, the young woman was once again in the presence of the King and the Council.  
"Hwa-Young," the King said, still weighing the beliefs of his faithful Lords and his daughter, as well as the appearance of the woman. Her eyes were red with tears, her face swollen with weeping. "Hwa-Young, the Council has addressed your story, as well as all the circumstances surrounding our City, which is kept hidden from a great Enemy. And we have which as you know that is hidden from a terrible Enemy. You shall stay in Gondolin."   
Laura's green eyes opened wide with surprise.   
"What!" she demanded angrily. "Why! You have no right to deprive me of MY freedom. You have already done so all these months. Isn't that enough? And here I thought the Quendi were civilized!"   
"Calm yourself," the King answered. "This judgment suits us, and it is the good of the city."   
"Oh yeah? Well, it doesn't suit me...Your Majesty." Laura answered, folding her arms across her chest, her head tilted insolently.   
Duilin could bear no more.   
"Keep a civil tongue in your mouth!" He ordered her  
Laura turned to the falcon-eyed Lord.   
"As far as my memory goes, Lord Duilin, I was talking to the King, and not with you."   
Lord Duilin clenched his teeth, but the King spoke before he could. "Then, you will do well to listen to me."   
Laura sighed and reluctantly turned to Turgon.   
"As you know full well, there is a great Enemy who we fear” continued the king “this City has been hidden from his eye for many years, for there are few who knows of its existence, for this reason, we have been able to leave in peace. Beyond the Encircling Mountains, danger lurks. You will find worse than Orcor out there." He paused. "If you remain in the city, our secret is safe. As for you, you are safe, and you may begin a new life, which was your end-purpose, I believe."   
"But it's not fair!" cried Laura, upset. "It's not fair! First of all, even though there have been some of you who've treated me badly, like Blondie, I don't resent them, so you can be certain I won't walk around shouting the location of your beautiful City. If you fear the 'Unnamed', do not you think that I'll be afraid of Him too and stay as far away as possible. And finally, what right do you have to force me to stay here! I don't want to stay here. If I do, I am going to be surrounded by Quendi who look down their noses at Men, just like Blondie. Would YOU like to live in a city where everyone patronizes you, the firíma!"  
"Such a thing will not happen," said the Princess reassuringly.  
Laura snorted.   
"Maybe not with you, Princess” she said, “you at least don't seem me as only the firíma; but there are people like that here, such as Duilin and Blondie." She paused. "I want to be in a city with my own people, where I will not be mistreated. I promise I will never tell the secret of this city. What would I gain, assuming I had that stupid idea? Because despite what you believe... I am grateful, and I do not intend to endanger your city."   
"We cannot be sure of this," replied the King gravely. "What do you have that can assure us of this?"   
"What? You have my word!"  
There was silence, and Laura raised her voice angrily.   
"Ah! I see! The highly civilized Quendi are not able to believe me, a firíma! If my word is not enough for you, then know that after having seen what I saw what they did to my mother...." Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. "I would never allow that to happen to anyone else." She turned to Turgon. "Would you like this to happen to your daughter, Princess Idril? You have no idea what it's like! I don't want it too......I would never breathe a word!"   
The King's face grew grim, and for an instant, Laura feared she had overplayed her trump card.   
At last, he spoke.   
"I do not doubt it, Hwa-Young. Your story tells me that you would not do it willingly. But the Enemy has unthinkable ways of obtaining knowledge; and it is for that same reason that you gave me: the safety of my daughter; you will stay here the rest of your days. You will be given a place to live and you will no longer be a prisoner ... at least until the time you have gained our confidence."  
Laura's eyes were wide. It had been a long time since anyone had used her own argument against her so well.   
"But…!" She tried to protest  
"No!" said the King sternly. "Here you will stay here for the rest of your life. This is the law of the Gondolindrim, once you enter, you shall not leave."   
Laura cursed under her breath. Her plan had not worked ... at least not exactly as she had planned. But there were always other resources. There was no reason why she couldn't simply escape.


	10. First months in Gondolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura had had to stay in Gondolin but she has the plan of escaping. Meanwhile, she will make some things that will make Glorfindel nothing nothing happy.

Chapter 10: First months in Gondolin

Heavily escorted by guards of the Fountain and Tree Houses, Laura was taken to the house where she would live for ... the rest of her days. Which would be a problem because those elves thought that she would live at the age of 80 years and nothing further from reality.  
Along with the guards were Lord Ecthelion, Lord Galdor and the Princess, who wanted to be absolutely sure that the 'new resident' of Gondolin had a decent and good house in which to live the rest of his life.  
The king had decided that the 'prisoner' and at the same time 'resident' Hwa Yong, was as far as possible from the palace because there would be no danger that something would happen to his beloved daughter. In fact, at that time he had only allowed Idril to accompany them to the new house of the firíma because two of her faithful Elf-lords were with her, not to mention the guard who was made up of 10 guards. So, if the so-called Hwa Yong turned out to be the warrior who had killed the orcs, as claimed Lord Duilin, it would not be so easy to attack the Princess.  
He also wanted her to be as far as possible from the gates. Perhaps the firíma did not know how to defend herself and feared weapons, or at least that was what Lord Ecthelion had said; but it never hurt to be cautious and keep her away from any gate so that any attempt to escape would be, if not futile, very difficult. So difficult that she decided to not even try.  
So, he finally decided that she lived in what was called the 'King Square', which was a kind of big square. The 'King Square' had such a figure that it occupied a large part of the city. Even one part was near the Palace while another end was near the Main Gate. But Turgon decided that the house of the firíma Hwa Yong was in the farthest corner, far from the Gates and the Palace. So, her house was on the street of the 'Way of Running Waters' corner with the 'Fountains of the South'.

***

"This is your house" said the Princess kindly entering once Lord Galdor opened the door "come"  
Laura looked around seriously. Her full bearing showed hostility towards everyone, including Idril, who, although had realized that, was trying to be as kind as possible to ... "sweeten" the difficult moment for the firíma.  
"This place, although it is not very big, at least it is that where you were in the Houses of Healing" continued the Princess walking through the house followed by Laura and up close by the two Elf-lords while the guards stayed at the entrance "look, it even has both a front yard and a back yard. Maybe you never told us, but I remember that you liked to see the clouds and the birds. So, to be able to enjoy such a thing, and even more: the stars and the Moon will make you feel better. You say that your father taught you to distinguish constellations, is not it? "Asked the Princess turning and smiling kindly  
But Laura just stared at her and did not say a word. Although, her expression was not blank at all. Idril smiled sympathetically.  
"You'll see, you'll get used to ..."  
"Leave me alone" was the curt phrase with which Laura interrupted the nice phrase of the Princess  
Her phrase as hard as steel and as sharp as the best sword, as well as the untimely form, left for a moment both the two Elf-lords and Idril surprised.  
"Was I not clear?" Said Laura raising an eyebrow, her arms crossing "I want to be left alone" she said, emphasizing the last word "or should I repeat it because you are deaf?"  
Lord Galdor put his hand on the hilt of his sword and narrowing his gray eyes said to the girl, his voice hard and threatening:  
"Don’t you know who you're talking to? You speak with the Princess of Gondolin: Idril Celebrindal, daughter of the powerful and wise king Turgon, son of Fingolfin. So, you better take care of that language and have good manners "  
Laura held his gaze without blinking.  
"So… what?" Was her insolent response, while raising her face in a challenging way "I know perfectly who I'm talking to and you know what ...? I'm not interested. You were not interested in my desires and hopes in the least. Why should I be interested in who you are or what do you consider to be good manners? "  
"Fi ..." began the Lord of the Tree House, his voice increasingly low and threatening; but a delicious female voice stopped him.  
"My Lord Galdor, it seems to me that Hwa Yong needs some moments of solitude to ... understand that the decision that has been made in the Council has been for the good of both her and us" said the Princess  
"It is not necessary that I understand anything, Princess Idril!" Exclaimed exalted Laura, her sparkling look of suppressed anger "it is very clear to me that you, the 'great and civilized' Quendi have taken my dreams from me and have me imprisoned. Putting your fears and your personal interests before, do not for a moment thinking about the firíma! "  
This time, even Lord Ecthelion opened his mouth to rebut the young woman. Her words were beginning to go beyond the line. But before a single word came from the mouth of the Lord of the House of Fountains, the Celebrindal answered without her voice faltered for a moment by anger or feeling offended. However, her blue eyes showed that the young woman's attitude had not pleased her, but at the same time she also understood her.  
"Have a good afternoon, Hwa Yong," she said bowing her golden head in greeting and left the house, followed by the two Elf-lords who each left five guards of their regiments to watch the firíma.

***

"This firíma needs to learn manners," remarked Lord Galdor after a few minutes while the three walked back to the palace "if she knew that you advocated for her, Princess ..."  
"It's very likely that she knows, or at least she guesses that, my Lord," the Celebrindal replied, "but we also have to understand that, literally, her life has radically changed overnight."  
"However, this time I'm on one mind with Lord Galdor, Princess" said Lord Ecthelion who until then had been silent "the firíma ..."  
"Hwa Yong" Idril gently corrected "if she's going to live among us, just as she calls us by our names, the least we can do is call her by her name"  
The Lord of the House of the Fountains nodded.  
"Hwa Yong" corrected Lord Ecthelion "must learn how to address yourself"  
"If she says that her father was rich, surely he must have given her some education and manners" added Lord Galdor  
"Truth is, my Lords, but first of all we must give her time to adapt and accept this new way of life. Only giving her a chance is that she will gradually accept the fact of living here and even us "  
"And once again ... have patience with such a woman," Lord Galdor muttered as he sighed reluctantly "thank goodness that the children of the race of Men are not immortal. "  
The Celebrindal turned and looked at him. In her blue eyes disapproval was read, while Lord Ecthelion gave a soft and simulated elbow to his friend, who rolled his eyes.   
"You better try to get used to her, Lord Galdor," said the Princess "after all, each of the Chieftains of the Casas de Gondolin will take turns watching her until she gets our trust. Have a good afternoon, my Lords, "she added bowing her beautiful head in greeting.  
The two Elf-lords bowed.   
"You know? You should be a little more careful when talking" Lord Ecthelion told his friend once Idril was gone "because the Princess is right: for a couple of decades we will have to deal with her and it is better for us all, to have a peaceful relationship with her"   
"I do not know how you can say such a thing," replied the Lord of the House of the Tree shaking his head of brown color   
"Do not think that for me it will be easy" said Lord Ecthelion sighing wearily "is in a part of the city that I and my House have to watch and protect mainly. But the best thing is to consider this new task in the most philosophical way possible "he paused" I only hope that when it's time for Glorfindel and his House to watch over her, there will be no problems "  
"Well, for that, rest assured that you'll have to be there also present unless our friend half-Vanya says something that the firíma Hwa Yong does not like and vice versa" said Lord Galdor"   
“Oh yes! You do not know how much I yearn for Glorfindel and Hwa Yong to speak again! "Lord Ecthelion ironically said   
Lord Galdor could not help but chuckle.

***

Laura’s POV

'And here I am, in a new prison, bigger and prettier (I have to admit it), but it's still prison.  
These stupid elves, believe that being the 'super' race Quendi gives them the right to do and undo their taste and whim. My alibi was excellent and to all of them, even to Blondie, I touched them. Duilin kept thinking and still thinking that I am a very dangerous person, in that he shows a lot of intelligence ... unlike his stupid companions.  
Ah! Even Idril was stupid! I had a very good concept of her, but no, it turns out that she prefers her own well-being to mine. After being very kind and deferential with me for months and months, suddenly that good quality is changed, and she joins the group of stupid elves who decide that the best thing is for me to stay.  
Actually, I should not be surprised, I always knew that Idril's kindness had a double intention, she never considered me a nice person or worthwhile being her friend (if friends exist ... except for Remy); all she was looking for was answers she got. False, but they wanted answers, right? Well there they are. They never said they wanted the truth ... at least not as such.  
And now I am imprisoned in the middle of a city of Quendi, that is, in the middle of a city whose inhabitants are more than stuck up and feel first born by Zeus. Bah! Neither Hitler with his crazy ideas about the superiority of the Aryan race could be compared to these elves!  
Whoever is the 'Unnamed' or 'Enemy', they must really be afraid of it. Ha! I wish I would bring him to them to see their beautiful faces showing no longer that pride, but now fear, fear and terror of Death. Because I must say that these guys are immortal, among other things.  
By the way, now there is a small, but very important detail: they have said that I will stay to live in Gondolin the rest of my days. These elves believe that I will live at the age of 80, even 90 but not more. However, it turns out that nothing is further from reality. In itself, my physique indicates that I am a woman of approximately 26-27 years of age and actually I have little more than 50! So, there must be an alibi ready there. Maybe that lie that Korean women have the ability to heal their body to themselves at the time of birth, may work ... but I'm not sure.  
Certainly, I have to have an alibi because if there is something that I have learned during all these years as much as assassin and mercenary, as X-Men: is that I must have several backup plans.  
At the moment my main plan is to escape from this cursed city. As I have been informed, I can walk some parts, but never away from the 'Way of Running Waters' or 'Fountains of the South'; so, is easily to imagine how restricted is the place where I can walk. It is certainly larger, much larger than the garden of the Houses of Healing, but it is still almost nothing.  
I'm not interested in what happens to this city in the least. If their terrible and infamous 'Unnamed' arrives and discovers them ... bad luck. Did they think about what I wanted? Do not! Then why should I be interested in what happens to them in case their terrible Enemy discovered them?  
No, now it's time to put everything I know into play. It will not be easy. Turgon is a bastard, but intelligent; and he has kept me away from any place that could be of use to me where to flee. To make matters worse, in the place where I live, Ecthelion’s guards spend their time watching mainly. The good of Ecthelion is a kind person, but totally loyal to his king; so that I do not dream that I can earn him and that he will help me in the future. In this I am totally alone. In any case, the only one I could have any hope with, would be Salgant. The friend Salgant is obviously a person easy to manipulate, in fact, he was the first to be moved with my super story.  
But ... when did the fact of being alone at the time of achieving the most difficult goals stop me? Just as these stupid Quendi never imagined that I would learn their language just by listening to them, they will also realize that X-23, one of the best assassin in the world, can give them many problems, evade their security and get out of here. Anyway, there is plenty of time ... and Time and Patience are excellent elements to achieve a difficult goal.  
Prepare, stupid and bastard Quendi, the firíma will show you who really is and what she can really do. I just hope to meet Blondie for a moment, I do not want to leave without first marking his beautiful face for life '

***

Laura’s POV

‘It has happened, counting today exactly, three months since I am here now in this ... house.  
There have been some very interesting and funny events during this time. The first is that every day, each one of the Houses of Gondolin is responsible for watching me and I have 10 guards following me wherever I go. Every day, the Chieftain of the House that has to watch over me that day, enters my house and checks that there is nothing that is suspicious or something like that.  
Hahaha! There has been nothing more interesting than what was there when Blondie first came for the first time.

***

Flashback

Lord Glorfindel left the house where Hwa Yong was staying. He and Lord Duilin were the ones who most detested going to do that task, but they were the king's orders, so they had to obey whether they liked the idea or not.  
Lord Duilin had no major problem, from time to time the young woman sought to exasperate him, which certainly was not difficult considering that the Lord of the House of Shallow had a rather strong and volatile temper. However, although there were times when both bantered words, and something that Laura certainly enjoyed; Lord Duilin was finally able to maintain his composure. After all age makes a difference and, on the other hand, Laura did not resent the Lord of the House of Shallow even though she knew that he had advocated being locked her in a dungeon for the rest of her life.  
But what was Lord Glorfindel ...? That was totally another story.  
Laura hated the Lord of the Golden Flower House for the way he had treated her always and for the comment he had made during the Council. Surely the stupid elf believed that she had not gotten to listen because those elves believed that the senses of Men were much less keen than those of the Quendi. But in her case ... the thing was very different because her mutation allowed her to have her senses as keen as any of them  
Once Lord Glorfindel checked the house consciously, he left and found her sitting on the long bench in the front garden. Her face looking towards the daytime star, her eyes closed. She seemed to enjoy the winter Sun and the soft winter breeze; however, in her thin lips was a vague mischievous smile. Lord Glorfindel realized this, but decided to ignore it, he walked as fast as possible to the exit and before opening the door to get away as soon as possible from that place that was unbearable for him, he said in a halting voice:  
"Have a nice day, Hwa Yong"  
There was a moment of silence in which the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower thought that he had managed to leave without banting words, unfortunately for him, he was very wrong.  
"Hey, Blondie!" A female voice called  
Lord Glorfindel took a deep breath trying to ignore the insult and follow the advice of his friend Ecthelion; but it was obvious that the young woman wanted to continue bothering him because she got up from the bench and called him back.  
"Hey, Blondie! I'm calling you!"  
The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower clenched his teeth and his fists closed violently, but he did not answer and kept walking. Unfortunately for him, Laura had noticed the reaction and was determined to make him lose patience to answer her.  
"Oh Blondie! Cute Blondie! Do not tell me you do not want to talk to me, Blondie? "Laura continued with an accent of feigned innocence and feeling insulted without reason." What did I do to you, Blondie? Could it be that, after all, the little pet-name I put on you is entirely correct? "She asked herself as she made a mockingly pensive gesture" I think so. Oh! Yes…!"  
"Enough firíma!" Exclaimed Lord Glorfindel, unable to contain himself for another moment.  
"Oh! But what have I done to you, Blondie? "Laura asked with mocking sadness" I just wanted to talk and ask you a favor "  
Lord Glorfindel took a deep breath and turned his back on her.  
"Oh! Where are your manners, Blondie! Not even Lord Duilin is so pathetically childish!"  
That was more than enough. With a speed that surprised Laura herself, Lord Glorfindel turned and stepped back the few steps he had taken, his hand on the hilt of his sword.  
"Do not you dare call me one more time 'Blondie', you understood well ... firíma?" He said in a low and threatening tone  
"But Blondie," Laura continued loudly and feigning surprise and sadness, while remarking the insult "I just wanted to ask you a favor ..."  
"My lord" interrupted a soldier of the House of the Golden Flower "is something happening?" He asked, looking suspiciously at the young woman who continued with the facade of innocent attitude  
Before Glorfindel himself could answer, Laura said,  
"He only got angry because I wanted to ask a favor. I wanted to ask him if he would kindly bring me some magazines because I get bored here. "  
The two elves looked at each other without understanding. Magazines?  
"C’mon!" Laura said feigning impatience "you know, magazines where you talk about anything. C’mon! Currently even a gossip or fashion magazine would be fine! I suppose there must be a fashion magazine among the Elves, considering your clothes, "she added, taking her eyes around both elves, specifically Lord Glorfindel "I have to accept it, Blondie, the fashion you wear is very striking. What kind is ... spring-summer? "  
The soldier of the House of the Golden Flower would probably have laughed at the gesture of his Lord, but respect restrained him. However, that did not go unnoticed by Laura.  
"Look, even your soldier thinks I'm right, Blondie!" Laura said waving to the soldier  
who immediately lowered his head.   
Lord Glorfindel was going to answer with nothing, nothing elegant; but a hand stopped him, as well as a gentle voice but also firm.   
"Enough Hwa Yong" Lord Ecthelion said fixing his gray eyes on the green ones of her "we do not know what a 'magazine' is; but we can send you books, although I do not know if they are useful for you because you cannot read our language "  
Laura raised a questioning eyebrow and the Lord of the House of the Fountains immediately understood the message that the young woman transmitted: if she had been able to learn their language spoken without help from anyone, nothing prevented her from learning the writing. However, Lord Ecthelion ignored the silent challenge and took his young friend by the arm, took him by force, literally forcing him not to speak until they were far from the firíma’s house. As for the soldier, he sent him with the rest of the House of the Golden Flower soldiers threatening him to say any word and send another soldier.   
Lord Ecthelion sighed inwardly as he took Glorfindel's arm. It would really take a real miracle for his friend to understand what he should do and those two would end up, at least, accepting each other.

***

Laura’s POV

Winter here is not very cold, at least not like in other places where I have been. It is a fact that these Elves have no problem with global warming and those things, because the seasons seem well marked. During the day and night, it snows, but it is not something like a blizzard, well, from time to time it is, but it is very strange because as I said before: this place is safe from any catastrophic event due to global warming. Which keeps me thinking about where I am? I am beginning to think that I am not on Earth, but in another unknown dimension or galaxy because as far as I know, global warming and all that has been felt in one way or another in the whole Earth.  
Now that, although only three months has passed, it does not mean that I have been totally inactive. Fortunately, they gave me my kevlar suit, so I could finish it in the part where the tip of the arrow of those orc bastards shot me to treason. I've also gotten a way to make a long rope and a 'hook', so I can move to great heights and distances as fast as possible. I have also managed to do by means of earth, a special dye to paint my face and arms ... something like the Marine or the soldiers do to avoid being discovered in the dark. A couple of something like a whip.  
Ha! The way I got it was through the spinners. They sent me colorful clothes, the typical colors used by the she-elves; but I ... I do not like to wear colors, in fact, my favorite color and with which I'm almost always dressed is black or some other color that combines, but dark. So, the clothes they sent me was the way I used to make my 'whip' and in this way to strangle quickly, from a distance and without making almost any noise to any elf.  
The Princess came to see me together with Lord Ecthelion and Lord Penlod (who   
was the one who was in charge of my surveillance that day) and they asked me why I was destroying my clothes. I have to admit that Idril had the good sense to accept my taste for the color of the clothes and, although not seen entirely in black, usually the colors of my clothes are dark blue, purple and black. Obviously, the Elves, or most of them did not like it, because what she-elf dresses like that? The only one who dresses like that is Lord Maeglin and that's because the color of his House is precisely the black and speaking of the devil ... here comes the Lord of the House of Mole.  
.

***

That morning, despite being winter, the weather was quite mild, especially for Laura because she was mutant and because the clothes the Elves gave her were warm. Believing that she would need clothes that would protect her well from the cold, the elves had given themselves the task of giving her clothes that any of the richest people in the world would envy for the delicacy, finesse and beauty of these; even though, to the chagrin of most of all they were black or navy blue or purple.  
Laura was lying on the bench in the front yard, her arms behind her head like a pillow for her head, her eyes closed. She seemed to be taking the Sun, but her mind was working, as always, in different ways of escaping. Now, this time, not bothering if she killed an elf or two or three or whatever it was necessary.  
Her keen sense of smell and hearing alerted her that someone was approaching. It was not a guard of the House of Pillar because she did not smell anything metallic, nor was Lord Penlod because he had already gone to check that everything was in order. Laura barely opened one eye and through the lashes she saw that it was Lord Maeglin, nephew of King Turgon.  
The Elf-lord was accompanied by one of the soldiers of the guard of one of the Houses that Lord Penlod was leading, it seemed that he was accompanying him in case there was any bad surprise. Although in reality, Laura was fully aware that, even though Maeglin was the youngest of all Council elves (even more so than Glorfindel), he was very capable of holding his ground without much trouble.  
"My lady" he called with that strange and soft voice that characterized him  
Laura, who had pretended not to have noticed the presence of the Elf-lord, opened her eyes and sat down; nevertheless, her face clearly showed her annoyance at the presence of that unexpected visit.  
"Lord Maeglin" replied  
Of all it was known that Laura AKA Hwa Yong, had a very strong temper and was not at all pleasant or kind to anyone. The only ones who could be considered off the list of being rejected were Lord Ecthelion and Lord Egalmoth. Lord Penlod, Lord Salgant and Lord Maeglin entered the list of those to whom the young girl was indifferent. Lord Rog and Lord Galdor were not the ones with the best relationship. What was Lord Glorfindel AKA Blondie, neither could be seen without first bantering words at least a couple of times, to such a degree that Lord Ecthelion had to accompany his young friend to prevent the Elf-Lord and human continue banting words all day.

***

"Would you allow me to pass?" Asked the king's nephew  
Laura raised an eyebrow. None of the Elf-lords had such kindness. If anything, Lord Ecthelion and Lord Egalmoth, by letting her know that they would enter to fulfill their daily task.  
"I suppose so," she replied, shrugging indifferently, which did not go unnoticed by the son of dark elf Eöl. He entered and went to her with that gallant step that characterized him without leaving any mark in the snow, while the guard of the House of Pillar was far enough away where he could not hear, but could see if something bad happened.  
"Would you allow me to sit down, Hwa Yong?" He asked once he was in front of her  
Laura shrugged again and stepped aside for the Elf-lord to sit down but keeping a good distance between him and her.

***

"Well, Lord Maeglin, what made you come to visit the firíma?" Asked after a moment bitterly Laura, remarking the last word  
"Firíma?" Repeated the Elf-lord "it seems to me that your name is Hwa Yong" he turned to her "unless I did not understand the story you told us in the Council"  
Laura frowned. 'Maybe he wants to be nice, but kindness is often accompanied by bad things and even betrayal. Rare is the person you can trust. And the elves are not one of them 'she thought  
"Certainly, Lord Maeglin" replied "my name is Hwa Yong. However, you still have not answered my question "  
Anyone could consider that the human was bold in her words and with a great lack of manners; but seemed that, that Elf-lord liked her  
"I wanted to talk with you," he replied. His black eyes piercing the greens of her who sought the reason in them, finding only the truth of what the Elf-lord had said.  
"And what do you want to talk about? From my past? From North Korea? "Laura asked, showing discomfort. Maybe in this way the Elf-lord would got, but it was not like that.  
"No," he answered, "although it would be very interesting for me to know about your homeland, I'm sure it would bring you both painful and pleasant memories, and my intention is not to make you feel more miserable and hurt than what you already feel. As for your past, you told us in front of the Council. It seems to me that there is no need to make you relive those terrible memories "  
Laura looked at him really surprised. That attitude showed great sympathy, but not sympathy moved by compassion. That sympathy was moved because there was something behind that was very much like the story she had told them.  
"So, if it's nothing of it, what do you want to talk to me about?" Laura asked always on guard  
Lord Maeglin was silent for a moment. He seemed to choose his words.  
"You said that we all have the right to show who we are. Do you really think so? "He finally asked  
Laura for a moment did not know what to say. That question was not expected. On the other hand, certainly everyone had the right to show who they really were ... although some, like her, no longer had a remedy. But that could not say.  
"Yes" she answered simply by covering immediately the fact that the question had taken her by surprise "why do you ask me such a thing?"  
"Because it seems to me that, at your tender age, you are very intelligent," Lord Maeglin replied with a slight smile on his beautiful lips. "Do you know that I also wielded that argument at the first Council meeting concerning you?"  
"Oh! It seems then that we are alike, the Quendi and the firíma have something in common "said Laura with a certain irony that did not go unnoticed by Elf-lord, but he was used to not being treated in the best of ways everywhere and also he felt somehow identified with her, for which he did not comment or make any case about the young woman's attitude. Suddenly he saw her frown.  
"Wait a moment," she said. "You said I had a tender age. I have to tell you that I do not have a tender age "  
"By elf standards you are very young. I myself am very young, the youngest of all the members of the Council "  
Laura stared at him as she crossed her arms.  
"Aha," she repeated incredulously, "and tell me what your age is then?"  
"One hundred and forty years" he replied quietly  
Laura opened her eyes wide.  
"You must be kidding me!"  
"Excuse me?" Asked the Elf-lord "I do not understand what you said"  
"That is not possible! One hundred and forty years! "Well, so impossible is not it. I am going to live more than 140 years unless a miracle happens.  
Lord Maeglin smiled slightly at the surprise of the young human. There was a silence.  
"So, you came to ... congratulate me on my maturity considering my 'tender age'" said Laura finally ironically  
"It is not common to find such wisdom in someone so young. On the other hand, I thought maybe this would make you feel better ... "he trailed off  
"Oh so! The firíma! "Laura murmured  
Lord Maeglin got up and was leaving when the girl's voice stopped him.  
"Now it's my turn to ask"  
The Elf-lord turned and waited for the question.  
"You said you did not want me to remember the events of my terrible story again, nor did you want I to talk about North Korea so that I would not suffer remembering good and bad memories" Laura paused while fixing her emerald eyes into the elven's carbuncle color "I could swear that you have a story quite similar to mine. And if we consider that you have told me that I am ... wise for my tender age, I would bet whatever it was that I am right, is not it, Lord Maeglin?  
The Elf-lord shuddered imperceptibly. Decidedly that young human was pretty observant and intelligent, more than anyone could imagine.   
"It's possible," he murmured.   
Laura stared at him. It was obvious she was asking what had happened.   
What was it that motivated Lord Maeglin to sit once more beside her and tell his sad story? Not even the Elf-lord could have said it, the truth is that, for a couple of hours, the Lord of the House of Mole talked and explained to that human woman what had happened: since his mother, the White Lady, Aredhel, sister of the king, had been 'kidnapped' by Eöl, the 'dark elf', until the moment when his father before his death had cursed him and the death of his mother in front of the whole court, poisoned by his own father: Eöl.  
Laura listened with great attention. Decidedly the elves also had their tragedies. And that seemed like a novel tragedy of Gothic Romanticism. For a moment she felt sympathy for the Elf-lord, but her distrust of everyone made it disappear. However, that feeling of annoyance that she felt every time that unfortunate couple's son looked at her ... disappeared. Now she understood why the Elf-lord had argued for the fact that everyone had the right to prove who they really were.  
Any other person would have said 'I'm sorry', but that was totally foreign to Laura; she would have only said it in case she was talking to her victim, but that was not the case; so all she said was,  
"Apparently there are also stories like those of my land among the elves"  
"So, it seems," Lord Maeglin muttered, "that's why I do not live with the other Elf-lords in the palace. You can guess what they say about me, maybe not them, but the people "  
"At least the king takes you into consideration" replied Laura "seems to hold you in very high esteem, after all you sit at his right hand"  
"I've had that luck. And maybe you would have it if you were a little kinder to others"  
Laura snorted.  
"I? The firíma? Someday be accepted? It is easier for me to die than for such a thing to happen "muttered the last sentence, but it did not go unnoticed by the Elf-lord  
"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning.  
Laura turned and with an indifferent gesture shrugged her shoulders.  
"I remembered a book" she said "it was something similar. A young woman who had been ... taught to kill and torture since she was a very small child. For many years she did what she was ordered to do without failing even once. But one day, she began to wonder if what she was doing was right or not. Finally, she decided that the murders and tortures she had done for over ten years were bad despite the fact that it was the only thing she knew; and yet she decided to change and do things well, use her skills to protect people. But ... society never accepted her even though she showed that she had changed, or at least she had left that sad life behind. So, being so well trained since childhood to kill and never be caught, it was easier to be killed than to be accepted by society one day, "Laura said, her green eyes fixed on a distant spot, her voice totally blank  
"So, society never accepted her?" Asked Lord Maeglin interested after a few moments  
"I do not know. The author never says it. He just says that that young woman still has the opportunity to change because after all, she has all the eternity for it "answered Laura with a forced smile, like someone who is not interested in the subject she is talking about" in any way, that woman had no hope, "added bitterly  
"Well, I think that such a thing will not happen because the simple fact that she had decided to change gives her the right to show who she really is. And she is a person who is brave enough to face what she has done for years and change to do good "said Lord Maeglin with conviction  
Laura looked at him for a moment.  
“Maybe” she muttered "Then the same can be applied to you, Lord Maeglin. You have not killed, nor tortured. Your advice, apparently is always wise, and the king respects you. Also, you DO have eternity. I guess it's just a matter of patience and time "Laura paused and looked at the elegant black clothes of the Elf-lord" and maybe a little change of fashion would not be bad "she added joking for the first time, which also did not go unnoticed by the Lord from the House of Mole, who's a weird thing: he chuckled too.  
"A change would not hurt you either," he said “especially with Lord Glorfindel”.  
"Oh! That's Blondie's fault! "Laura said" he did not want to bring me magazines, not even about fashion! C’mon! Even 'Vanity Fair' would be fine! "  
"Magazines?" The Elf-Lord repeated slowly without understanding.  
"Yes! Magazines! How complicated can that be! But no! Blondie always has to take the opposite and bother me as much as possible "exclaimed Laura exalted  
"Maybe if you stopped calling by the epessë of 'Blondie', things would change," Lord Maeglin advised gently.  
"Maybe if he stopped treating me with disdain and considering me as THE 'firíma', things would change" she replied furious  
"Or maybe what is convenient is that both give yourselves a second chance to show who you really are"  
Laura snorted as she crossed her arms. He stood up and smiled softly at her while bowing his raven head as greeting.  
"Have a good day, Hwa Yong," he said as he left the front yard  
"Likewise, Lord Maeglin"  
Lord Maeglin shook his head slightly as he walked back to his palace. His black hair, like the wing of a crow, waved softly. Decidedly that human was more than stubborn. He only expected two things: one, that Lord Glorfindel was not as stubborn as she because the situation between her and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower was escalating; and two, that the human woman was right and that someday the people of Gondolin understood that the simple fact that he was the son of a dark elf, did not make him like his father Eöl. No, he, Maeglin, Lord of the House of Mole was different. Certainly he had all eternity for it and hoped that, as his uncle had realized it, the people of Hidden City and, above all, his beloved: his cousin, Princess Idril Celebrindal realizes too.


	11. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's remember that Laura annoyed to no end to Lord Glorfindel and it was always Lord Ecthelion who stopped his friend of doing a folly, but things can't be like this forever... or can they?

Chapter 11: Changes

The glade of young beech stood in the sunlight of the Stirring; the buds swollen tight on every branch promising beauty forthwith. Hiding their roots, golden ranks of daffodils massed together, the golden trumpet of spring.  
"How is this even thinkable! How!"  
Turgon's voice cut like a knife through the silence of the gardens, sharp as steel but hot with rage.  
Upon the terrace above the beech copse stood Glorfindel, Chieftain of the Golden Flower, his back straight, but his head lowered, his mien that of a scolded child, in stark contradiction to his wonted proud bearing. His golden hair was disheveled, a sure sign he had fought, and his eyes sparkled with fury, although repressed shame lurked in their depths. His sword-hand clutched the hilt of Culumaica. He would never attack his King, even if his life was at stake, but the touch of the hilt calmed him.  
In front of him paced the High-King, his gray eyes the hue of a raging sea. Glorfindel had never seen him so angered.  
"How is it even thinkable that an Elf-Lord would do such a thing? By Ulmo! I never believed a Lord of the Council would do such an unseemly thing!"  
He stopped in front of Glorfindel, who had his eyes fixed on the marble floor of the terrace.  
"How can I trust your judgment, Lord Glorfindel? Tell me! How can I trust your decisions when you act like a feckless child?!"  
Glorfindel clenched his teeth, but the King's rebuke was a well-aimed shaft. He had not acted wisely; this punishment was earned.  
The relationship between Hwa-Yong and him had only grown worse. Not content with insulting him, she had urged him to banter words with her, until there had been times his own soldiers looked at him in surprise, for Hwa-Young knew very well how to make him look a fool. Many times, Ecthelion had forced him away from the house, for Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to get the whip-hand over her.  
There was nothing dignified about the act, but Glorfindel no longer cared. He detested the woman and regretted constantly regretted that he had not declared in favor of taking her beyond the Echoriath. His life would be far less bitter.  
"Since it seems that you do not know how to fulfill your duties with the dignity of an Elven Lord, and one of your lineage, I will relieve you of such responsibilities," said Turgon after a long silence. "You and your house will go to the Gates, and guard them without rest. And thank Lord Ecthelion, Glorfindel, that your lordship is not taken from you. I was tempted, but Lord Ecthelion vindicated you from the disgrace, and I believe likewise that it is because of your youth you did it."  
There was another silence, but before Turgon dismissed Glorfindel, the half-Vanya said in a halting voice, trying to check his fury. "Then, you know what happened."  
"Lord Ecthelion told me all," answered Turgon, his voice calmer but no less cold. "I am aware that Hwa-Young has been troubling you these months, but that does not justify your deeds. You grappled with Lord Ecthelion and drew your sword against a defenseless mortal. Peradventure the women of North Korea may recover from any wound, but if you had injured Ecthelion, what then? Now go, and comply, and remember that such a thing will not happen again."  
Glorfindel bowed and went from the palace. Curse the woman! She would stay here for the rest of her days now, and he would have to suffer in silence for over a century.  
Turgon stood looking over the garden after Glorfindel left. The air was cold and sharp. A sparrow chipped its song. Snow still covered most of Gondolin, but the sparrow heralded the awakening from winter's lethargy and the sudden glory that Tàri-Laisi and Kementarì would bestow upon Beleriand. The still air and the gentle Sun calmed his spirit for the moment.  
A guard of the Fountains broke into his thoughts. "My Lord, shall I bring the prisoner?"  
"Bring her to the audience-chamber," he answered, a frown creasing his brows for a short moment. He was unused to dealing with mortals, and although Hwa-Young had none of the Quendi's abilities in her favor, her tongue as sharp as a two-edged sword. He entered the palace and waited in the audience-chamber.

***

In a short time, he heard footsteps. Veryandil entered the room, Lord Ecthelion's second-in-command, and in command of the House while Ecthelion healed.  
Two guards entered the room behind him, Laura between them.  
Turgon considered the woman for a long minute, his wisdom advising him to know in what disposition she was in before he addressed the matter.  
"Do you know what happened because of you?"  
"Yes," she replied, her green eyes enigmatic.  
"And you care nothing for it?"  
She shrugged. "It's not my fault. Blondie does not know how to control his anger-"  
"Lord Glorfindel!" The King interrupted furiously. "That is his name and by such he shall be called. You know well that the epithet provokes him."  
"And you know perfectly well why I gave it to him, Your Majesty!" Laura exclaimed. "Who was the one who started it, huh? Who?"  
Her tone was one of veiled insolence. Turgon's voice was low, and there was a dangerous gleam in his silvery eyes.  
"Certainly, Glorfindel was to blame. But he behaved like that because he fears for our City and our people. You do not know what lies beyond the Echoriath! There reign Death and Darkness!"  
"That's not my problem."  
"No," Turgon answered, his voice heavy with biting sarcasm. "No, it is not. All that concerns you is your wellbeing. As such, you should understand that it was Lord Glorfindel who argued for you to be given a house where you might live worthily, instead of being placed in a dungeon. This is how you repay your benefactor?"  
Laura's face showed surprise. She opened her mouth, but Turgon continued.  
"I see you do not know, even when part of the reason for your hostility was that he advocated against you. Nothing is further from the truth. It is curious, Hwa-Young, that you should treat those who spoke against you with indifference, but the one who chose to aid you, you are a thorn in his boot."  
"That doesn't extenuate him from the fact he has always treated me as an inferior, with disdain!" said Laura indignantly.  
"Disdain, Hwa-Young? You disdain those who do not give you what you wish, those who do not adore you. But if they protect and provide for you, and praise you, those are kind people. It does not surprise me then, that you treat the Lords unkindly, even those who have tried to earn your goodwill, like Ecthelion. He is now in the Healing House because of that, and if he was not a seasoned warrior, he would be severely injured."  
Laura narrowed her eyes. She remembered the circumstances with perfect clarity. When Ecthelion had tried to prevent them, he had received a blow, that, if it were not for the instinctive jump he had taken backward, would have pierced his ribs. That had forced him to finally tell the King of the situation between her and Glorfindel, after which he had gone to Healers.  
"It's his fault," she answered. "No one asked him to get involved. He just wanted to play the hero."  
The king looked at Laura and smiled coldly.  
"Play the hero, Hwa-Young? You know little enough about heroes. Your family were heroes because they were generous, but how will interest you, Hwa Young, if the only one you care about is you. Hero? How dare you use that word if you do not even know its meaning. You will never know."  
Laura had blanched, although her features were still inscrutable. She swallowed several times.  
"I do not enjoy mentioning your family," Turgon continued, believing her family was the reason she had turned pale. "No, your family is not the cause. You are the cause, Hwa Young. You have been given everything, but even if you had the Silmarilli, you would not be satisfied. You are selfish, and no matter how many skills you have-all the children of Men have skills-you will always remain selfish and insolent. For all the years of your life, you will be miserable, and you will never know true friends, those who will aid you when you need it because you do not deserve it, Hwa Young. You do not deserve it and you will not deserve it."  
Her fists clenched fiercely, restraining her claws. Although her eyes held his, and her breathing was slow, the sudden rush of pain had torn her. Turgon could not read what she felt, but he was sure that his harsh words had been enough to silence the woman.  
"You will not leave your house." he continued, after a long silence. "Not until you have learned to silence your forked tongue and mend your churlish ways. When you possess some measure of courtesy, then shall your freedoms be granted to you. Take her away, Veryandil."

***

Once he was left alone, Turgon went into the gardens, and laved his head in the chilly water of a fountain, then rested his forehead on the marble rim, rimed with verglas. It had been a long time since he had been so angered.

***

The guards left Laura at the cottage in silence. No one would address her until the King ordered otherwise.  
When they were gone, she entered her boudoir and watched the guards leave, then drew out her adamantium claws.  
She looked at them for a moment, seeing how their razor-sharp edges glinted in the afternoon light and then began to lacerate her chest and arms deeply, for over an hour. Clean deep cuts to take away her pain, as if causing physical hurt would diminish the agony in her heart and mind.  
Finally, she dropped into a corner and retracted her claws, hugging her knees to her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the cornice in the ceiling, her face impassive even as she inwardly writhed with anger and pain.  
The words of Turgon had hurt her more than any torture that had ever tested her at the Facility. Although Laura had learned to remain mute at times like this, this was the worst pain she had ever known.  
For a brief second, she had intended to leap on the King and kill or harm him. But Turgon had Glamdring in his belt, and there were guards near. Thanks to her intense training, she kept her head until she was alone, and then inflicted as much pain as she could on herself...because she deserved it.  
The King, the X-Men, and the Facility were all right: she could never do any good, she would never do anything other than what she had been trained for, she would always be selfish and cruel and ruthless.  
'You have been trained for this, X-23. To kill, destroy, to do the dirty job that others do not dare to do out of fear. But you, you do not even blink at this ... you are and always will be the killing-machine that you were designed to be from before you were born.' The words of the Director of the Facility rang in her ears, the images of the family he had forced her to kill flashed in whirling pictures before her eyes.  
'I do not know how the Professor has so much confidence in her.' Scott's voice resounded, too loud to be a memory, too far-away to be a reality. 'She was created to kill from birth. She has never known or will know what it is to be generous, what it is to use the skills we have thanks to the X Gene, to save lives. She snatches them, does not save them. She always has and always will. That is her nature.'   
She had wanted to torture the X-Man bastard when she overheard him saying that about her, kill him little by little, but that would have meant agreeing with him, what he said about her. For several years, she had been trying with all her will to change. But every time she tried, everything went wrong, terribly wrong.  
Her narrow lips trembled, wanting to voice the despair she felt. But, it would be of no use. She would never be good, no matter how much she screamed and railed at Fate. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be a real woman, she would never be like Pinocchio. Even that wooden puppet was luckier than her. He had managed to become a real flesh and blood boy. She, X-23 ... would never be, even if there were fairy godmothers.

***

Six Months Later

The green grass was tall in the great Vale of Tumladen, for it was Lairë, the month of Úrimë. The fruit trees were heavy laden, and their sweet, sun-rich fragrance was borne back from Gondolin by a west wind.  
"And how does Glorfindel fare?" asked Galdor while dismounting from his bay stallion and patting his neck. The horse snorted and sniffed the hair of his master.  
"In a far better mood," Ecthelion replied. Larcatál, his gray mare, grazed near them. "Tomorrow his punishment ends, but Glorfindel is of a cheerful nature, and his anger, although great, did not last as long as his punishment."  
Duilin caught a white feather one of the Mánir had stolen from his braids.  
"In that, he shows a clear head for his youth." he intervened, returning the feather to his tawny hair. "Unlike Hwa Young."  
Galdor smiled at Duilin, for the Swallow was not much born much earlier than Glorfindel himself.  
They had ridden out about a mile from Gondolin, across the grasses which waved above many pools and silver streams. The mystery of the Orcor was answered to their satisfaction and Thorondor and his Great Eagles had redoubled their vigilance. Once again, the Elven-lords of the Eleven Houses could rest easy.  
"What about Hwa-Young?" Asked Ecthelion, with a faint frown. "Has she done anything against you?"  
"No," Duilin replied, holding out his hand as the grass billowed and rolled. "In truth, she seems another."  
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Galdor said.  
"Yes. She has scarcely spoken a word in all these months. If we do not talk to her, she does not speak to us. And if we wish her a good day, she only echoes our words or answers with a nod."  
Ecthelion impatiently pulled strands of black hair from his face. "Duilin, advise your friends among the Mánir to quit their play."  
Duilin looked towards the Lord of the Fountains, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "They do not heed me, my friend. See if you can daunt them with the promise of your wrath."  
Ecthelion sighed and halted to braid his hair again.  
"I wonder what King Turgon tell her. To silence Hwa-Young seemed an almost impossible feat." wondered Duilin as they waited. "With the exception of Maeglin. They never bickered-"  
Galdor and Ecthelion looked at him, and Duilin hastened to explain. "The two were-if not friendly- on a peaceful footing,"  
Ecthelion frowned in thought. Maeglin was scathing, mordant and distant. He preferred the company of his forge, rather than those of his fellow Lords. It seemed strange that the firíma would be well-disposed towards him.  
"Mayhap it is because of the likeness between her life and his," suggested Galdor.  
Duilin snorted. "And in matters of attire."  
"Whatever the reasons, it is good tidings that he has begun to befriend the woman," Ecthelion intervened, folding his arms. 'At least he speaks to someone other than the Princess,' he thought. He did not relish how Maeglin dogged the Flower of Gondolin.  
"Maybe," Galdor agreed. "When shall the King allow her to leave her house?"  
"Perhaps when Glorfindel and she can have a pleasant talk," replied Ecthelion.  
Duilin raised his eyebrows.  
"Then she shall never leave her house again." He said  
Galdor answered thoughtfully.  
"Who knows? My guards have told me that Lord Maeglin advised Hwa-Young to be kinder, although perhaps he does not follow his own wise advice."  
"He is not the friendliest in all Gondolin," Duilin agreed.  
"But he certainly would not be so taciturn if he were not treated so coolly," replied Galdor, glancing meaningfully at Duilin.  
Duilin looked at towards the sky with deprecation. It was true, he was not the kindest with the king's sister-son, but rare indeed was the Elf who truly tried to befriend Maeglin, and even rarer was an inhabitant of Gondolin who saw him without scorn or suspicion. "The only one he accepts is Princess Idril," he said defensively.  
"She is his kinswoman," said Galdor. "Of course, he accepts her."  
Duilin looked at him with disbelief.  
"Are you so callow? Surely you see that it is not because Idril is his ettaressë that he searches for her. There have been times when the Princess fled to me, so he would leave her in peace!"  
Galdor frowned. Yes, there were certainly times when the Celebrindal spurned or strove to escape her ettaréro.  
"What do you think, Ecthelion?" he asked the older and wise Lord, who had remained silent.  
"What I think, my friends, that is something that we do not have the leisure to speak of, since I must return to my post. At the moment, the circumstances between Hwa-Young and Glorfindel are more worrisome to me." He answered

***

A night breeze danced through the whispering leaves. Pale flowers blossomed like moons at midnight, twining around Hwa-young's cottage. Lilac's sweet, mauve scent was fine, heady wine, and the song of the nightingales echoed in the silence, breathing sweetness.  
High above those flowers, the true Moon shone full and splendid, for Úrimë was ending and the time of Yávië beginning. Thousands of stars shone: the Sickle of the Gods gleamed in the North. The path to the cottage was surrounded by bushes that flowered white and gold, and under this blossoming archway, two Elf-Lords stood,  
"Glorfindel, keep your calm," Ecthelion admonished in a whisper. "She was punished as well. This is not disgraceful, it is truce-making."  
His young friend nodded. Ecthelion approached the door, and knocked thrice, firmly on the wooden door. After a moment, he called her name softly.  
There was a long quiet, in which they believed she was sleeping. Then they saw her shadow leaning over the roof, over a mass of flowering vines. She watched them, waiting.  
"Hwa-Young, pardon our intrusion. We must speak to you, will you come down?" said politely Lord Ecthelion  
The woman stared at him and then disappeared, appearing a minute later at the door. Seeing who accompanied the Noldo, her green eyes turned hostile, but she remained silent.  
Glorfindel stepped forward, his voice stiff and awkward.  
"I came to make peace with you, Hwa-Young. Under this agreement, I will never call you firíma, and I ask that you will never call me Blondie. I hope we can maintain a courteous relationship, if both of us follow the terms."  
Laura did not answer, her eyes seeming to weigh the situation, her face blank. Finally, she nodded. "Good evening," she said and closed the door.  
The two Elves looked at each other in surprise and passed again under the flower archway.

***

"I thought it would be more ... difficult," said Glorfindel.  
"She has changed."  
"Changed? She is wholly another! "  
"Would you prefer the prior Hwa-Young?" Ecthelion asked, raising his eyebrows.  
"I would rather face a company of Orcor unarmed!"  
Ecthelion chuckled.  
"Very well. I suppose you will have no impediment in resuming your duties here."  
Glorfindel snorted.  
"No, as long as she-" He broke off suddenly, a slight frown creasing his brow.  
Ecthelion looked at his friend in surprise. "Glorfindel?"  
The half-Vanya shook his head, relaxing his shoulders. "No, it was nothing."  
Ecthelion listened attentively. Only the soft whisper of the wind was heard.  
"What did you hear?"  
"Nothing," the younger Elf answered stubbornly. "It was only the wind in the branches, or perhaps an owl."  
"Mayhap we should return…"  
"No. There are guards there."  
Ecthelion looked at him with a frown but said nothing more. They parted ways on the Road of Arches, but no sooner did his friend disappear, Glorfindel dashed back to the cottage.  
He motioned for the guards to remain silent and approached the oak.  
The leaves rustled as he climbed cautiously through its boughs, and when he was level with the roof, he raised his head.  
The moonlight shone on the young woman's face, and he saw it clearly. She was singing softly, singing the same song she had sung in the Healing Houses, but this time her arms were in a position as if she was playing a foreign instrument he could not see.  
The first time he saw her sing, her face had shown endless loneliness, but also girlish enjoyment, but now her face was blank. But Glorfindel knew there was something behind the mask. The emotionless expression she showed before was different from the one she wore now. It was an expression that blazoned itself on his heart. The words of the song he now heard left as if written in fire upon his mind.


	12. The beginning of something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how of the many little changes that leaded to Lord Glorfindel and Laura to approach and in the end, fall in love. Though remember, this is a slow burn.  
> By the way, the song that Laura loves so much will be known in time as well as the lyrics.

Chapter 12: The Beginning of Something New

Two Months Later (Menelya, Day of the Heavens. Narquelië (October), the Fading, First Age 461) 

The pale light of an autumn sunset came through the oriel window, seeking out the dust motes and finally falling on Glorfindel, who sat near the window. His eyes were closed, his hands on his harp.  
A note rang discordantly in the silent room, and Glorfindel stood up in frustration.  
It was wrong, once more, or misplaced. He seated himself reluctantly, and closed his eyes again, repeating the melody in his mind. The song he had heard Hwa-Young sing had remained engraved in his mind for two months. He did not have the faintest inkling of what the words said, nor was the music or the singer's voice very beautiful to him, but howbeit, her expression had compelled him to practice this song. Every night, when his duties were done, he spent many hours laboring over the tune. He only knew that somehow, he was bounden to play the song she had sung upon his harp, and this way, bring her some measure of joy and illumination.  
All the Lords agreed with Duilin of the Swallow, the firíma had become another in all respects. Rog, Duilin and even Penlod, were convinced that this was only a childish outburst, in an effort to affect or anger her captors. Glorfindel was unsure of the opinions of Egalmoth, Salgant, but the change in her demeanor had attracted much attention.  
Even stranger to him was that Ecthelion and Idril agreed with Maeglin, for once, that this was not sullenness. He had spoken his own opinion in the Council.

***

***Two Weeks Prior***

"I have spoken with her," Princess Idril said. "It is not a childish fit of sulks, she is not striving to draw our attention to her. Something pains her."  
"Her past?" Turgon asked, guilt flitting through his grey eyes, as he remembered how he spoke of her kin to her.  
Idril said thoughtfully. "No, there is something different, but I do not know what it is."  
"Lack of hope," answered Lord Maeglin, who had been watching his cousin as she spoke. "She has lost the hope of a ... change."  
Duilin regarded him in perplexity.  
"Change of what? Did she hope to change her dwelling, so she might live among Men, and suffer danger that is only restrained by a thread?"  
"A change of residence is not the only change in life, is it, Duilin?" Replied Maeglin, his black eyes resting on each Elven-Lord in turn. The phrase held many undertones. There was a long silence, which was finally broken by Idril.  
"And what change was there, ettaréro?" asked Idril at last.  
He shook his head. "I know not. I have spoken with her thrice, but that has not allowed me to know what affected her."  
"Whatever the change might be, it has transformed her," said Ecthelion.  
"Perchance she suffers from grief." said the Princess. The Second born were not immune to grief, although it was not in them to feel it with the intensity of the Quendi. "Grief for her family and for her people. She must, just as we do, yearn for her race and culture."  
"Or maybe it is a feint, and she is trifling with us once more, so she may escape," said Duilin obstinately. "In truth, I do not trust Hwa-Young, not after her hostile treatment, beginning with Lord Glorfindel."  
Turgon looked towards Glorfindel, his gaze a command clear enough for the half-Vanya to speak.  
Glorfindel chose his words, remembering the song, and the impassive face turned towards the Moon. At last, he looked up from the marble table.  
"I do not know what to think" he said "I have not spoken with her except for an occasional greeting, and she does not answer me save with a nod. I do not know what happened to Hwa-Young, all I can see is the change it caused."  
Turgon nodded. A hummingbird fluttered near the window, flashing scarlet and green in the autumn-blue sky.  
Hwa-Young's change had been for the better. When his daughter had brought her books, the woman and gave them back, and after thanking her, said she did not wish too. According to Idril, she had been polite, but distant, treating her with a cool courtesy that could not be interpreted as a slight, but was neither effusive. Neither the Celebrindal nor Lord Rog, who had been present, could declare anything against her behavior.  
"What is your advice, my Lords?" He asked at last.  
"I believe it is only a childish display of sullenness or else a tactic towards an end-purpose," said Duilin, his sharp eyes following the hummingbird in its wind-quick flight, and then returned to those assembled.  
"In that, Lord Duilin, I differ. Why would she escape? The world out there is fraught with perils, as surely the Orcor showed her. Here, she is safe." said Ecthelion.  
"So, you believe, Lord Ecthelion, that Hwa-Young is in grief, as my daughter intimated?" Turgon asked.  
"I know not, my Lord, but I do not believe this is a strategy for escape."  
Penlod seconded the Lord of the Fountains.  
"My King, I do not believe Hwa-Young represents any danger. Her change might be from sullenness or grief. But she knows her sudden transformation will draw attention, which, if she was trying to escape, she would not wish. I highly doubt she is using this as a gambit to leave Gondolin."  
"Lord Egalmoth?" asked Turgon.  
"I would advise that we treat her as we have done thus far. It has brought a peace between her and us."  
"Lord Maeglin? "Asked the King, his hope falling on the wisdom of his young sister-son.  
"My Lord, it is not for us to know what she thinks. It may be some new ploy, but I do not share this thought. It could be her behavior is caused by grief, but let time pass, then we shall know. Time and Patience are the most excellent paths towards understanding a person, and, we, my Lords, we have both. Soon we will know the result and let us be ready for either one."  
All eyes were turned to Turgon, who sat in silent thought.  
"Certainly, your advice is full of wisdom, Maeglin, "he said at last. "We will wait. Time will tell us the true intentions of Hwa-Young. "  
When the Lords had left, the Princess remained behind with her father, seeing how his brow was clouded.  
"Atar, tell me what troubles you," she said.  
Turgon looked towards his child and answered softly,  
"I may be the one to blame for this, Itarillë."  
Idril sat in her place, the question read in her bright eyes.  
"When I rebuked her, I spoke of her family. I told her that they were heroes, but she could never be one because of her selfishness." There was some regret in his voice. "Perhaps my chiding was too harsh. She is a mortal, and not like one of us. I let my anger rule my words instead-"  
The snowy arms wrapped around his neck interrupted his sentence. Idril leaned her golden head against the raven of her father's and said with a bright smile,  
"Do not fret, Atar. She felt it keenly, but at least there is peace. I am sure that one way or another, things will change."  
"You have so much hope, Itarillë, but remember she is a mortal."  
"We never thought we would a place to live in peace, but here we raised Gondolin, away from any knowledge of the Unnamed One," she answered. "Something will happen, Atar. I know not what, but it will, and then we shall know why she changed."

***

"You must train your fingers, to give them the strength you need. Furthermore, they are tensed, which injures the tone of the harp"  
Glorfindel looked up from where he had been resting his head on the neck of his harp. He had been struggling to recall the note, so intent on his work that he had not noticed Ecthelion enter.  
The raven-haired lutist crossed the room to the recess of the oriel window and studied his friend.  
"What tune are you trying to play?" he asked.  
Beyond the glass, autumn wound a golden path, it's sweet breath chilling Beleriand. Below them in the gardens, crimson leaves faded as the light failed, and were pulled from the branches. The air was cold and sharp. There would be a frost that night, but Kementári had been bountiful, and the fruitful harvest was gathered safely in already.  
Glorfindel did not answer but plucked another note and groaned in disappointment.  
"Come, Glorfindel. You spend your spare time alone in your room, and we miss your company. I don't understand the reason for this seclusion. I know you enjoy the harp, but you are suddenly showing a baffling amount of interest in it." Ecthelion paused and then said. "Tell me the name of the melody, perhaps I can assist you."  
It was an enticing offer. Ecthelion was known well for his godlike power with music, and none in Gondolin could rival his voice or his ability with the flute. Whether he played or sang, those who heard lost themselves in the clear rhythm, the silvery sound that wove images of things unknown and beautiful. The very birds would halt their singing to hear him. Nor was it strange that anyone who was a stranger to the art of music to ask his advice. It always granted willingly, for Ecthelion delighted in aiding those who were interested in the art dearest to his heart.  
"Come Glorfindel, you know that I can aid you," he said, "I have done it before."  
"Not this time, my friend," Glorfindel answered.  
"Why not?"  
Glorfindel only shook his head, studying the harp carefully, as if trying to guess the next note.  
"Will it be for some fair lady?" asked Ecthelion archly.  
The Noldo's calm, serious nature rarely led him to jest, but the raillery intended to make Glorfindel heed him. The question was not without merit: Gondolin's Darling was still young and had not passed that age in which the Quendi commonly find their mate.  
Glorfindel would have ordinarily rolled his eyes, but this time he did not appear to notice the quip. He plucked the harp again and laughed delightedly at the note. He began to play slowly, and although he stumbled several times, the melody was understood.  
Ecthelion raised an eyebrow. He had never heard anything like it before: it sounded strange and unbeautiful to his harper's ear. After a few moments, Glorfindel began to hum the song, while playing the melody. With the added distraction, the mistakes were more numerous, but he did not cease.  
When the song ended, Ecthelion asked with sincere surprise. "What is that, pray?"  
"A song, I believe," answered Glorfindel.  
The other sighed in forbearance. "Unmistakably, it is so. What is the name of the tune? I have never heard of it."  
Glorfindel did not answer but began to play again.  
"Loosen your fingers as you play, that will better the sound," Ecthelion advised, before leaving the room.

***

Ecthelion's POV  
"Not even I know what has come over Glorfindel. Duilin believes some lady has caught his eye, but his attitude is not one of love and adoration. It has something to do with the foreign song he plays so consistently.   
Sometimes I wonder if it's a song he heard from Hwa-Young. If so, I do not understand why it is important for him to play it. Perhaps Glorfindel is trying to get her out of her strange mood. I do not think it is the most advisable, but he has a kind heart, that's why he is truly called the Darling of Gondolin.

***

Glorfindel's POV  
'I fear my strength does not lie in music.   
As Ecthelion told me, I must relax my fingers, and strengthen them. I hope that within two months I will be able to play it well enough to show Hwa-Young. This way...I think I can help her grief. She has a grief that has been stabbing her heart for a long time. I do not know what it is, but I know that this song will help her... and I hope the Válar will be kind enough to help me when I play it for her'

***

Two Months Later (Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Ringarë (December), Time of Winter, First Age 461) 

Laura's POV  
'The moment has come at last. I'm sick of these Elves! Every day I must bite my tongue, so I don't tell them what I think of them all!   
The only one I speak to is Maeglin. He may not be a friend: I've never a friend except Remmy, but I can engage in a conversation with Maeglin without having to deal with that egotism the other Elf-Lords possess.   
As for Blondie? I don't care anymore ... in fact, not even Turgon interests me.   
All I'm interested in is leaving, and if I have to kill Elves in order to make good my escape... all the better. I have everything ready. My whip, my rope with the grappling hook and the stain to paint my face and arms are ready.   
Oh! Dear God, someone is coming! It's Blondie. What does that damn elf want? To make my life more miserable? He already examined the house in the morning, that's more than enough. And now he's calling me.   
He needs to get out of here, because time is running short, and I need to make use of this moment and leave the city.   
Damn you, Blondie, here I come! Get ready, because my face will be the last thing you'll see.'

***

The cottage remained silent. Glorfindel glanced around. The night was moonless, but the stars were very bright. Perhaps she was sleeping, or perhaps she was only ignoring him.  
He seated himself on the bench, beneath the leafless oak. The amber-colored lamp hanging near the doorway illuminated the entrance, but no one cast a shadow.  
'Válar, hear my prayer. May she be pleased with my gift.' he murmured. His heart beat quick, as it had not done even before evils unnamable. The song he had heard the mortal sung twice rang out in the cold air.  
Within the cottage, Laura knotted the girdle around the robe, to hide her Kevlar suit. She disheveled her hair and hurried to the door, ready to tell the Elf she wanted to sleep, and his presence was preventing it.  
Her hand froze on the latch as she recognized the song.  
How did he know that song? Where had he heard it? Her brow furrowed fiercely. Opening the door silently, she approached him with the soundless skill that had made her feared around the world. She did not intend to banter words with him, but to strangle him. He had eavesdropped, pried into things he had no right to know.  
But when she saw him in the amber light, his eyes fixed on the harp as slowly played, her hand, which had gone to her whip, released it, and hung by her side.  
Glorfindel still did not look up, focused on the strings of his harp and the sound that quavered in the starlight. When he came to the refrain, he began to hum, stumbling at times as he played.  
Laura listened attentively to the melody, her eyes first fixed on the fingers of the Elf-lord, and then settled upon the half-Vanya's face. He was frowning slightly, and she did not move her gaze again.  
She listened as he whistled, trying to emulate the part where she had whistled, and then continued playing haltingly, but he did not cease.  
Glorfindel faltered in a note, wondering whether to discontinue and save himself from the humiliation. There was no sign she had even been listening.  
His heart leaped as a voice began to sing as he played the refrain. He recognized it, well-rounded and strong, and not daring to look up, continued. He played the refrain once more, accompanied by her voice.  
Finally, once the last note of the harp was lost in the night air, Glorfindel raised his blue eyes and saw that no less than five steps away, the young woman was stood. Her green eyes were fixed on him, showing amazement and demanding answers.

***

Laura's POV  
'What the hell was it that stopped me from killing that son of a…! I must be getting soft! It is not possible that the song would have stopped my escape... but it did!   
What the hell happened to me? What the hell is happening to me? And worse yet ... why did I sing while he played the song so badly? The hell!   
There's sure there's a catch! There's no reason for Blondie to be so kind! What do you want with me, Blondie, huh? Try and catch me off my guard again. And rest assured, that if your answers do not satisfy me ... I will send you to the other world without the slightest remorse.'

***

Glorfindel's POV  
'The Válar had mercy and heard my prayer! But this is not ended. Her eyes show all that she is thinking. She desires me to see it, I know, for she is a master at concealing her feelings when she so wishes. Why she desires this is do not know, and I also do not know why I have this desire to help her, but nonetheless, I am trying. I hope she grants me the chance. '

***

"I am glad you came to listen, and, even more, accompanied me," he said, looking at her.  
"What are you doing here?" she demanded harshly. "I don't know if you remember, Lord Glorfindel, but the children of Men need sleep daily."  
"I know," he agreed, "But I believed that you would not have it played during the day when it could overhear."  
"How?" She asked again.  
"In the Healing Houses," he said. "The day Princess Idril first came to visit you. I was furious that she would come: I thought she was in danger. So, once I accompanied her to the palace, I returned to ... " He paused and drew a deep breath. "To threaten you, but your singing checked me. It showed me that you were not the one who at first, I had believed who you were. It showed me you could feel, and it also showed me the grief the Princess said you had. That is why, when we learned that you knew our language, I voted that you would stay in worthy lodgings. for you to stay." He paused again "I heard you sing it once more the night I came to make peace with you. Your face was as impassive as ever, but your eyes..." He stopped.  
Laura stared at him. Despite her constant guard, something was happening in her heart, changing it little by little. The will to kill him was fading away.  
"My eyes ...?" She said in a hard voice.  
Glorfindel frowned as if seeking to express what he had seen.  
"I cannot describe it, but what I saw in your eyes that night I cannot forget. This why I have tried to learn the song so meaningful to you." He chuckled. "I thought maybe you would like to hear it played, even though I am not a musician. After all, you are right about this: the Quendi are not masters in everything. I could not get the right notes, even after preparing for four months."  
Laura did not answer. She watched him for a few minutes, and then turned away, back towards the house. She had no time to waste, that night was ideal for escape.  
Seeing her leave, Glorfindel stood but did not follow her, knowing that if he did, the woman would respond unkindly.  
"Hwa Young," he called softly. She did not stop.  
Glorfindel sighed.  
"Hwa-Young!" he called again "We all have a right to a second chance... one to show who we truly are. Those are not my words, but those of Maeglin's, and yours, which shows that both, you and he, have seen what I am blind too." He paused. "I accept that I behaved like a child, as you said. I just beg you to understand my position. I helped build this City, not only the walls but the people. I swore I would protect it and all therein with my life. But now, I ask you, appealing to you with your own argument, that you give me a chance to show who I truly am." He stopped, unsure of what to say, but his fëa guided him. "Hwa-Young, I know you feel alone, misunderstood and hopeless. I also lost my family, not long ago... but I found that all is not lost and that there is always hope. Give us a second chance, give me a second chance, give yourself a second chance." he pleaded.  
"There are no second chances," Laura murmured. "Not for people like me"  
"You have no idea how wrong you are," answered Glorfindel softly.  
Laura spun around angrily, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. "And let me guess ... you do know how wrong I am, Master Know-it-all!"  
Glorfindel did not flinch, although the new pet-name did not please him.  
"Maybe. I do not know," he said, holding her gaze.  
Laura watched him for a long time, her gaze impassive. Glorfindel did not know what she was thinking, whether she was measuring his attitude, or considering ways to mock him. He only raised a quick prayer to Erú and the Válar once more.  
At last, Laura put a hand on her waist and tilted her head to the right, her gaze no longer harsh nor dangerous. No, instead it was a look that would take Glorfindel several years to understand.  
"Your fingers are very clumsy," she said roughly.  
"Yes," he admitted, with a sigh. "I-"  
"And the notes in several measures are wrong "she interrupted, her tone even harsher. "You are trying to play it according to my voice, but the melody is not the same."  
"Perhaps, if you taught me, that could be amended," he answered evenly.  
Laura took a deep breath, as if to give her patience, and rolled her eyes.

***

Vàsa was rising from the East, lighting Gondolin with her golden rays, filling all she touched with life, calling forth the daytime pursuits of the Quendi.  
The sky that in the night been illuminated with hundreds of thousands of stars, changed. Delicate, dawn-tinted brush strokes colored the clouds.  
The Hidden City came back to life. The House of the Harp took the place of The House of the Swallow in guarding the Gates. The Great Market was filled with the laughter of Neri and Nessi who bought and talked.  
Away from the clamor of the market, beneath the snowy oak, a fair Quendë with hair of gold and a homely, black-haired firíma sat on either side of the bench: the discourteous daughter of Men teaching the gallant son of Elves how to play a strange melody on his harp.


	13. Insights

Chapter 13: Insights

Three Months Later (Valarya, Day of the Válar. Súlimë {March}, the Stirring, First Age 462.

The night was cold and the stars frost-sharp, but a faint reminder of warmth stirred in the trees, an intimation that Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, had not forgotten Beleriand after the long winter.  
"Again," commanded Laura, seated on the bench beneath the brooding oak.  
Glorfindel sighed. Her incessant demands and impatience made her a difficult companion. Nonetheless, whenever it was the turn of his House guarded the small cottage, he would take his harp with him. They would seat themselves on either end of the bench, and from dusk to dawn, practice the song so dear to the woman's heart. She was a harsh and unkind teacher but despite her unswerving discourtesy, she had honored the agreement, and never called him 'Blondie'.  
During those months Glorfindel had been able to understand her nature little by little. He was attentive and had learned to read the scarcely perceptible signs she made: a slight flicker of her gaze or movement of the mouth, or even a glimmer in her green eyes.  
She was skilled in concealing her emotions, but it seemed to him that at times Hwa-Young would glance out of her cloak of secrecy. Some signs were still unreadable to him, but he was assured that this harsh woman was only a mantle Hwa-Young wore. Beneath many swathes of different-hued garments, he would eventually find the real woman, and truly know her. She clutched those layers to her like protective mail, and it would be nigh impossible to reach her, but he would not cease until he succeeded.  
Despite this, he was not servile. Even though he wished to find her, silence was not always the answer to her insults. There were tempestuous arguments then, a rivalry between him and the woman.  
"I said 'again'," she repeated harshly.  
"The note is correct," said Glorfindel quietly. Her discourtesy was beginning to grate on him: it would behoove her to desist.  
"And how do you know that?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.  
"I've been practicing the song for months, Hwa-Young. I know the notes."  
"Mmm-hmm. But who knows this song better? After all, I've been the one who taught you all these months. "  
"Indeed, but I learned it, and I know the notes," he answered, his blue eyes sparkling at the derision in her tone.  
Laura smiled inwardly. After all, all the Elf-lords except for Maeglin, had, in her opinion, a strong superiority complex, which could be easily used against them. After that, Glorfindel graduated to anger, and 'he who gets angry loses'. Laura knew it perfectly and had used it several times against him, enjoying the rivalry that ensued: who could overcome the other in a war of words.  
"If you did know all the notes, you could have played the song flawlessly. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're still wrong."  
"This tune is characteristic of North Korea's culture, and it is slightly harder for me to learn something so different," he said, imitating the veiled insolence of her own like a mock-bird. "I assure you that you would find it so were you trying to learn one of our songs."  
"And what makes you think that? After all, I learned your language without anyone's help," she answered, tilting her head in a jeering manner.  
"Music and language are separate matters. Mastering a tongue is very different than mastering an art like Music. Lord Ecthelion would tell you so."  
"Is that so? But unfortunately, my dear Elf-lord, the Lord of the Fountains is not here to defend your point. Until he arrives and does so, your argument is invalid."  
Glorfindel clenched his fingers around the column of his harp, the sturdy woodwork a poor surrogate for the hilt of Culumaica. She had overplayed herself again. However, the rivalry that caused them to bicker each other, and that also allowed him to explore some of Hwa-young's traits, overcame his anger. It was a game of chess, their words the pieces on the board.  
"And why is my argument baseless? Do you not believe my word?" he said, his tone a child of insolence and resent. He knew that the end-purpose of the woman was to anger him. "You know who I am, do you not?"  
"Yes."  
"And you still do not believe me?"  
"Ah ... no," she said, with a mocking smirk, augmented by the insolence with which she answered his question. The black knight moved forward, he thought.  
"And why not?" He said. "For three months we have been practicing this song, and in that time, you have not found it in yourself to believe me?" It only a white pawn, a weak counter-offense for her knight.  
She shrugged indifferently.  
"No. A song does not make people trust each other... or does it, Blondie?"  
Glorfindel stiffened slightly. The woman was testing him, testing his patience and temper. Mayhap it was to know him, or mayhap to know if he would pay the price of knowing her.  
"Our agreement was that you would not call me 'Blondie' and I would not call you 'firíma'," he said, but the sudden rigidity of his body that did not go unnoticed by Laura. Seeing she had the whip hand and determined to win, she answered quietly.  
"That's true. The problem is that you have not left me a choice other than calling you that beautiful name. What you have said so far, since I ordered you to play the note, fits perfectly with the description of a 'blondie'."  
Glorfindel smiled at her. "We of the Quendi allow none but our liege-lord or lady to command us, firíma," he replied, accentuating the name. His rook parried the black knight.  
Laura's eyes widened, and Glorfindel was glad to have silenced her for the moment. His rook had defeated the black knight, but the answer was not what he had supposed. She arched her left eyebrow, tilted her head to the right and crossed her arms over her chest, looking straight into his eyes, her eyes challenging.  
Glorfindel had learned that when she arched her left brow and tilted her head to the right meant she was inviting him to a contest of looks. He returned the gaze. Laura remained in her position, Glorfindel had his back straight and his head high. Bot their faces were impassive, and Elf and Human could have been mistaken for statues were not for the slight movement of their chests. Sapphire eyes locked with emerald eyes in absolute silence; it was their eyes that said more than a thousand words in the hush.  
After a few minutes passed, Glorfindel felt his eyes beginning to sting, which quickly grew into a burning pain. The woman seemed untroubled, and he mumbled inwardly, bitter at his inevitable humiliation. 'By the Válar! How is it possible that she does not need to blink, and I do!' The woman's queen had taken his knight.  
A slow smile of triumph appeared on her thin lips, and Glorfindel was forced to blink rapidly.  
Her smile widened. She blinked several times and said kindly. "Okay, okay. The Quendi have honor, they do not allow anyone to order them about." She paused, and her eyes shone. "Unfortunately, they are not able to stand a few minutes without blinking."  
Glorfindel frowned. Black Queen facing White King. Checkmate.  
"Anyway, since this important matter has been solved," she said after a moment, irony tinging her tone. "Play the note. The dawn is near. You have duties it to attend to and I want to sleep."  
He sighed inwardly and played the note she had commanded. He had advanced greatly and by Yestarë he was able to play the song with few mistakes, although earning had been complicated by his teacher's impatient nature and how foreign the song was. He began to play the song, and when he came to the refrain, sang the words she sang, although they meant as much to him the chatter of a squirrel.  
He heard her breath deeply, and raising his blue eyes, saw her smiling, a smile of true delight. It lasted for a few seconds, and then her hard mask returned. He looked down at his harp. No doubt she had tried to suppress that smile in his presence, but finally, wooing mirth had won her. What he had not achieved through the challenge, he had achieved by imitating the words she sang. It revealed something to him: Hwa-Young had feelings of joy and merriment, however deeply buried. He wondered at their suppression, but for the moment, the discovery was satisfactory. It was needful to continue slowly unraveling the cloth.  
The song finished, he stood up with his harp in his hand. Laura emulated him at the other end of the bench.  
"You need to keep practicing, Lord Glorfindel. The refrain still lacks fluency when played, "she said seriously, although there was a glint of conquest in her green eyes.  
He smiled inwardly at the challenge.  
"Indeed, Hwa-Young. Have a blessed day."  
"Likewise, Lord Glorfindel."  
He went down the garden, but at the gate, stopped and turned.  
"Hwa-Young?"  
Laura, who was already going to enter the cottage, looked towards him and waited.  
"Smile more often," he advised. "It is becoming: you are winsome when you smile because of mirth."  
Laura was startled, her black brows lifted high in shock. He laughed. His knight had moved against her queen: she was forced to retreat. It was a fair game now.  
"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young," he repeated, smiling.  
Laura stood still on the doorstep, not moving until he disappeared from her sight.  
"Damn elf!" She muttered, but the anger that would have led her to mock or even kill him...did not cross her mind.

***

"You are in a joyful humor today, Glorfindel. Why so? "  
The half-Vanya looked up and saw Lord Egalmoth, clad in a blue mantle, with his curved sword at his belt, going towards the cot, followed by ten guards of his House. He watched him curiously, studying Glorfindel's smile and finally, the harp in his hand.  
"It is naught," he replied. "Only that I recalled something amusing."  
Lord Egalmoth was not as earnest as Lord Ecthelion, and perhaps at another time he would have asked his young companion-in-arms what he had remembered, but his curiosity turned towards the harp.  
"And the lyre?" he inquired.  
"It is for entertainment during the night," Glorfindel answered sincerely.  
Egalmoth raised a surprised eyebrow.  
"I thought that once you inspected the cot, you returned to the palace once posting your guards."  
"At first, I intended to, but the night was pleasant," he said, feigning indifference. It was imperative that Lord Egalmoth had never the slightest suspicion of what was transpiring.  
Fortunately for Glorfindel, Egalmoth was never perceptive to the degree of Ecthelion. Ecthelion knew Glorfindel well, and his calm, insightful nature would have cornered his friend until he knew the truth.  
The Steward of Gondolin, although not wholly satisfied with the answer, did not consider it suspect. Glorfindel was renowned for his loyalty to the king, the Princess, and the City.  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Glorfindel."  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Egalmoth," he answered, returning the courtesy, and both left, one towards the cot and the other towards the palace.

***

Glorfindel completed his duties towards his House, sending the ten guards to rest and preparing another cadre that would soon replace Duilin's soldiers in the guarding of the Gates.  
He then turned towards his chambers, going towards them through a garden. Bluebells, enticed by the warmth of the morning, opened in dewy hosts, their hue rivaling the color of the sky. Bashful snowdrops hid their white apparel under the dark-blue flower. Beneath the shade of a budding mallorn, he paused. Some furlongs away, on a wide marble staircase that joined one of Idril's rooms with this garden, two figures were standing.  
In the middle of the staircase was Idril Celebrindal, dressed in a simple garment of white, that came to her slender ankles. Her golden hair fell in loose curls across her shoulders and down her back. Below her, Maeglin stood, dressed in sartorial black, his raven hair braided away from his face.  
They were speaking in hushed, tense voices so that he could not hear the words. The Princess was taut as a bent bowstring, unhappy and agitated, Maeglin's stance was pleading.  
His honor forbade him to eavesdrop, and he continued quietly. He did not like that that Lord dogged the Flower of Gondolin, but how could he say ought if he was somehow guilty of what was transpiring.  
Glorfindel shook his golden head. He did not know what to think, but he knew that he did not relish it. Worse still, King Turgon was so blinded by his love for Maeglin that he was unable to see that the footsteps of his only child were dogged by her cousin, son of the Dark Elf.  
With a sigh, he shut it from his mind, determining to enjoy his brief rest.

***

"Good morning to you, Lord Maeglin," said a voice that startled the young Elf. Absorbed in his chaotic thoughts and the storm which had gathered in his heart again, he had not noticed the presence of an Elf.  
Looking up, he quickly recognized in his tasseled interlocutor Lord Salgant, Lord of the House of the Harp. Salgant was soft and sluggish. The flesh around his eyes dulled their light, and though he had great strength, he was cowardly at heart, gullible and pliant. He admired Maeglin and was kind towards the half-Noldo. And the sister-son of Turgon knew it.  
"What troubles you, Lord Maeglin?" Salgant asked, seeing that his face was more somber than was its wont.  
"It is naught, Lord Salgant. I only had an unkind encounter," he replied, his agile mind quick to understand how he could use Salgant for his benefit.  
The corpulent Lord frowned. There were few who were kind to Maeglin, and even fewer, those who befriended him, save for King Turgon and Salgant himself.  
"What occurred, Lord Maeglin?" he asked, showing sincere concern.  
"I do not want to trouble you with my difficulties, Lord Salgant," said the other with a short sigh.  
"Lord Maeglin, have you had a hostile meeting this morning?"  
Maeglin smiled wryly, looking towards the clear spring sky.  
"My cousin, the fair Princess Celebrindal spurned me not an hour past." He paused. "I truly enjoy her company, but she does not realize it," he said with a sad accent, far more sincere than anything else he had uttered.  
"Our Princess is, at times, distrustful of ought that be different," answered Salgant. "In that way, she is like her mother."  
Maeglin laughed, shortly and painfully.  
"So, even Lady Elenwë would have shunned me?" The knowledge was unpleasant.  
"Courage, Lord Maeglin!" Salgant said, touched by the face of the king's sister-son. "One day the Princess, will understand who you truly are. I have seen in you, Lord Maeglin. You are not who most consider you to be. Therefore, if you desire, I will vindicate you before the Princess."  
Maeglin smiled. That was what he needed: that an Elf-lord, a member of the Council, would speak in his favor to the Celebrindal, and at last, she would come to trust him.  
"I would greatly appreciate that favor, Lord Salgant," he said bowing, as he held his right hand to his heart.  
Lord Salgant smiled kindly and returned the greeting.  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Maeglin," he said, "And take heart, my friend. The day will come when things are changed."  
"I welcome your words, Lord Salgant, and am glad to know that, even in the midst of this enmity, I can count on a friend. Have a blessed day."  
The Elf-lords parted. Maeglin towards Anghabar, uncertain in his mind. Many times, he had rejected the idea of manipulating Lord Salgant at will and for his own benefit, but if that allowed him to win his cousin's heart, maybe it would not be so ill.

***

Lord Egalmoth came out of the cottage, ducking under the low doorframe. He had thoroughly examined every gap, had left no corner ignored, and had found naught. Standing on the lintel, he saw the gardens alight with daffodils. Near him stood the young woman, who had remained silent.  
"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young," he said.  
"Likewise, Lord Egalmoth," she replied, without intonation.  
For the first time, the Lord bowed his head slightly and smiled at her, remembering Glorfindel. Perhaps, with a certain kindness, the firíma would change her state, but she only bowed her head and stepped inside.  
Lord Egalmoth sighed inwardly. What would have made Glorfindel smile? Surely it was nothing to do with the woman, she was as merry as Nienna, Lady of Tears. Surely, it was some other matter, and the only ones who could get the truth from him was Ecthelion and the King.  
He placed his guards and turned to the palace. After several hours he would return to see how the human was faring, accompanied by a servant who brought food for her.

***

Laura glanced at the window and saw Egalmoth nearing the palace. Scanning the room quickly, she took out her tools: the whip, the rope with a grappling hook, her kevlar suit and the stain she had prepared.  
She stared at them for a long while. Neither that night nor the following were suitable for escape. So, she would continue teaching Glorfindel the song she loved so much. He was learning fast, she admitted, and they would spend the night singing, playing and bickering. However, much they bickered, Laura enjoyed spending time with the half-Vanya. The idea of escape had lost much of its appeal.  
The first few times she had realized that she had gotten angry with the Elf, and above all, herself. She was growing soft! She! The most effective assassin on Earth! It had never touched her heart to torture and kill, but now a stupid Elf-lord was making postpone her escape. And she knew perfectly well, that was how human psychology acted: to postpone the things you do not want to do until it was too late. That way, there is no guilt because there is an excuse: there was no time.  
She has been trained in the most rigid way, she had done terrible things, she had committed murders in the cruelest and most bloodthirsty ways, she had tortured without blinking, but now, this Elf with his bickering was bringing out something human in her. He had even made her smile! Nobody had done it for a long time... only Remmy had managed it, but Remmy was different. He had a dark past, unlike this Elf with the face of a Botticelli angel, and a history that was surely as bright as his armor and smile.  
Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No, she would not allow it. She had to escape, that had always been her goal. Her story had not worked, now she would try by her typical means.  
She drew another breath into her chest. With a sudden movement she held up her suit before her eyes, as if to imbue her memory with everything she had done while wearing that black suit at night. Yes, it would hurt, and it would hurt horribly because she had become accustomed to the presence of the Elf-lord, but it was necessary. Glorfindel had become cancer, and if it was not uprooted immediately, he would continue to grow on her... and then? Laura shook her head, she did not have the remotest idea, but just thinking about it gave her fear. She had always faced her fears therefore, she must distance him. And she would.

***

The night it was the turn of his guards to watch the cottage, Glorfindel approached with his harp in his hands. It was a warm night. There was a breath of springtime in the misty trees and crickets made the night throb with their tiny life.  
He sat down on the bench, in his accustomed place. She was not present, but he was used to that. She often came out late: to show disinterest in his high rank and mock the respect he received elsewhere, but he had become familiar with it.  
Time passed on, and his patience exhausted, he began to play the melody. The cot remained silent: a nightingale warbled. Seeing this, he began to sing when he replied the refrain, but there was still no answer.  
At last, he rose and went to the door, carrying his harp with him.  
"Hwa-Young," he called softly.  
Before he could knock, the door was wrenched open, and Laura appeared in the doorway. Her stance was so threatening, and her eyes gleamed with such a feral light, Glorfindel's hand went instinctively to his sword.  
"Hwa-Young-"  
"Go away!" She snarled.  
"Hwa Young-"  
She interrupted his words again. "Go away! I do not want to see you again!"  
Glorfindel's eyes widened, amazed. Her stance said the selfsame thing. What had happened?  
"Hwa Young, what troubles you?" He asked gently, trying to calm her.  
"Do-not-call me-Hwa-Young!" She exclaimed. Her words were jerky and forced, her tone a gutting knife. Her eyes flared, she pushed him back. Glorfindel stepped away: he would never have believed that a firíma had so much strength.  
When he recovered from his surprise, his voice trembled with anger.  
"I do not know what I've done to you to deserve this, Hwa-Young. All these nights, you've given yourself the luxury of treating me unkindly. Certainly, we bicker; but I cannot find the reason why you are so callous. If you wish, I will never return. I, for my part, came every night because it allowed me to know you more. The song is important to me because it is an important part of you." he paused" I thought I had found that the Hwa-Young, who had always been aggressive or cold, could also smile. I thought she had a heart, some warmth in her spirit. But it seems I was mistaken."  
Laura's face was a stone mask, but behind its inscrutability, a terrible pain rocked her entire being. She staggered through a haze madness and agony, fighting to seal it inside, away from his eyes. A sudden shout rose to her throat but never made it past her pain-clenched teeth.  
Snatching the harp from his hands, she flung it against the wall of the house. The column broke, the wooden body cracked.  
Glorfindel looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes ablaze with anger. Then he knelt and picked up his harp, his voice dangerously quiet, although his hands trembled with fury.  
"As you wish, firíma. I will never come again."  
He left without looking back.  
In the doorway, Laura watched him go, until he disappeared into the night's shadows. A terrible pain was consuming her soul, she knew he would keep his word and never return. When he was gone, she closed the door softly behind her.  
"It was necessary. It was necessary, " she murmured as she leaned on the door and closed her eyes.


	14. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Laura in the last chapter? In this chapter it'll be given the answer. As well as a couple of things about Laura's past.

Chapter 14: Reconciliation

Two Months Later (Anarya, Day of the Sun. Lótessë {May}, the Springing, First Age 462)

It was early morning. Vàsa's light had not yet risen over the Crissaegrim: her fiery chariot still hung low in the Eastern sky. Beneath a young grove of telornë, lay Glorfindel. From between their silver leaves, he watched the clouds being pushed to the whims of the morning breezes.  
Around him, the tall grass moved smoothly in rhythm with the dance of the Sùruli, bejeweled with morning dew. Small flowers lifted their faces to the Heart of Fire. Lighting now and then upon them were butterflies of many hues and flitting hummingbirds.  
Far removed from the city, this glade was silent, save for the song of birds, who, hidden among the branches, called to each other. Some sang for their own comfort, others proclaiming the power of the Válar and others sang to the trees that gave them shelter and sustenance.  
Lying there, with his hands behind his head, he followed the flight of a white butterfly with his eyes. In its hilt, Culumaica still rested, never far from its master's hand. Valarocco grazed not far away, both master and horse correspondingly aware of their surroundings.  
Glorfindel had been in that lonely place since the fading of Luinil, and although the beauty of Yavanna's gifts was marvelous, it did not weigh on his mind.  
No, it was not to rejoice in the gift that Yavanna had given to the Quendi, nor find a moment's rest from the noise of Gondolin that he was here. Only in solitude could he find the answer to the question he had asked himself for two months: what happened to Hwa-Young?  
Since that night, he had kept his word. The only moments he was with her was when he performed his duty, ensuring all was in order. The only world he gave to her were those of short courtesy, bidding her to have a blessed day or night. He never spoke her name. She had commanded it, and he would do so.  
At first, he had been enraged at her treatment. He had endured her impatience and rudeness, when very like even serene Ecthelion would have lost patience, chiefly because Music was concerned, and for him, Music was a sacred art. But he had braved her discourtesy and biting tongue and even bickered with her, all to meet the woman beneath. In answer, she had insulted him, pushed him away, and destroyed his harp.  
Ecthelion had inquired about the instrument, but Glorfindel remained silent on the matter. There was no need to be chastened once again because of the ungrateful firíma. It was that word had made him question what had befallen that night.  
Firíma. Firíma. It was a word that the woman despised. She felt it expressed contempt for her race., and in answer, she was cold, aggressive, her tongue sharper than Culumaica. He did not know if the other members of the Council had been given some other epessë, but his byname was one he loathed. Whenever she called him Blondie, he retaliated with firíma. Those names were, in essence, their two greatest players on the chess-board, their Queens. Before he had left, never to return, he had called her firíma, and she had not responded: only remained silent with her eyes locked upon him.  
Why had she not answered with Blondie? What prevented her? Fear of the punishment King Turgon would inflict? No, that woman seemed nigh-fearless. There must have been another cause, but ... what?  
He had read her posture, the glitter of her eyes, and everything had indicated what she said was what she truly felt. Nevertheless, she had not answered with 'Blondie', as she had always done before. What had motivated Hwa-Young to drive him away with such causeless violence? He would have sworn by his sword-hand that she had done against her will, which would have wounded her deeply. However, accustomed as she was to conceal her emotions, she did not reveal it. The only matter that invited attention, and that only to him and perhaps, Ecthelion, was that her gaze was not empty. It was a strange look, an unfathomable one he could not explain, but her eyes held a secret, and he thought that the mystery was the pain she had suffered in rejecting him. Now, he had to know why she did it.  
The leaves whispered above him as he thought, hoping that he could discover the reason.

***

Galdor stood on the path that led up over the Orfalch Echor to the Six Gates. Below him, Lord Salgant and his House traversed the path. He was waiting, his guards still posted so that at no time would the Gates be unguarded.  
"Lord Salgant," he said, as the black-clad Lord drew near.  
"Lord Galdor," answered Salgant. "Are there any tidings?"  
"Nay. The Válar and Erú have had mercy on us and another night has passed in peace. Let us hope all remains in calm."  
"Without a doubt, Lord Galdor."  
Galdor studied Salgant's face. The Lord was reticent this morn, and his face showed something Galdor did not understand but recognized as shame. Salgant was not as dear to Gondolin as Glorfindel was, but he had many companions, though there was the talk of his friendship with Lord Maeglin.  
"Does something trouble you, Lord Salgant?" He asked.  
"No, Lord Galdor, not at all." the other replied quickly, but his eyes strayed away from Galdor's green ones.  
Galdor was quick to see that he would not discuss this matter and said. "Have a blessed day, Lord Salgant. May your guard be uneventful."  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Galdor," answered Salgant, bowing his head slightly, and sighed. It was well that Galdor was not overly-prying and had left him in peace. He did not wish to dwell on the matter. He did not want to even guess what Galdor would think if he knew.

***

By the time Galdor reached the palace, readying in his mind the report he would give Turgon, he met Lord Penlod in the front courtyard. The tallest of the Noldor was accompanied by a young servant, small of limb, with a pretty, piquant face, carrying a basket.  
"The morning meal for Hwa-Young?" Galdor inquired, pausing for a moment.  
"Yes," answered Penlod. "Fortunately, we will hear no complaints about the food. She remains silent on that matter: she is a strange creature."  
Respectfully behind Penlod, Galdor noted the servant arching an amused brow, and could not restrain a smile.  
"All children of the race of Men are strange, Lord Penlod."  
The Lord of Two Houses shook his head.  
"Perhaps, but the firíma is different. Húrin and Huor of Dor-lómin were not like this woman."  
"They were guests. She is closer to a prisoner. She sees us as the destroyers of her dreams, she will act otherwise than the House of Hador."  
"Indeed. But in that she is wrong. We have given her the chance for freedom."  
"She is one of the Secondborn, they think unlike us," answered Galdor. "Why must she be the cynosure? I weary of speaking of her."  
"She is not the only one who thinks unlike us." Penlod murmured, ignoring his last words.  
Galdor frowned at him, a silent question read in his green eyes. Seeing this, Penlod turned to the servant. "Lothelen, go onward without me."  
She dipped a brief curtsey and followed the path across the Square of the King. Once they were alone, Lord Penlod said,  
"We say that the race of Men thinks unlike us, but there are those among us who think in even stranger ways." He shook his head. "You are aware of the sympathy Lord Salgant professes towards the King's sister-son. He has advocated for him before the Princess. Since the Princess spurns her ettaréro, Lord Salgant has advocated for Lord Maeglin before her several times." Lord Penlod paused "At the first, the Princess told him she did not wish to speak of it, but when he tried the third time, she rebuked him severely because of his imprudence."  
Galdor nodded slowly.  
"I like not the friendship between Salgant and the Prince." continued Penlod. "Salgant is a reputable warrior, his skill in the sword is formidable, but his convictions are feeble. They are like clouds, going where the wind blows. And regrettably, that wind is ever the words of Maeglin."  
"I know that Lord Maeglin is not to your liking, Lord Penlod," Galdor replied after a moment. He was one of the few Lords who endeavored to be kind with the Prince. "But perhaps patience would not go amiss. Maeglin's life is not and was not idyllic."  
"True," answered Penlod dubiously. "And perhaps I would not have so much suspicion was it not for the way he dogs Idril. The Celebrindal shuns him, but Maeglin shadows her nonetheless. What kinsman would do such towards his cousin?"  
"Then, do you believe, like Lord Duilin, that he is enamored with her?"  
"Enamored?" Penlod repeated, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.  
Galdor sighed.  
"In love," he finally said in a low voice.  
"I do not know. If it is not, I am glad. But if it is, that is an unfortunate thing. We do not wed kin so near."  
"Lord Maeglin knows it. I do not think that is his end," answered Galdor. "He would not do such a thing."  
"Maybe," said Penlod, looking around the Court. "I must leave you now, Lord Galdor, and got to Hwa-Young," he added, while the cloud that had darkened his brow for a moment disappeared.  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Penlod," Galdor replied, smiling  
"It is not such an unfortunate duty. Indeed, it has improved greatly."  
"That is true," he agreed, "Have a blessed day, Lord Penlod."  
"Likewise, Lord Galdor," answered Penlod, and followed Lothelen towards the cottage.  
Galdor remained still for a moment, his face pensive. What Lord Penlod said was not without reason.  
Salgant had always been pliant, although none of the Elven-Lords took advantage of this. Unfortunately, Lord Maeglin did not hold to their principles when it pertained to his fair cousin. He wondered for a moment if the situation was truly as Lord Duilin claimed. If so, why did the King do nothing?

***

It was night in Gondolin. The murmur of noise that had been heard throughout the day was slowly disappearing into the sunset. Soft songs were heard, dedicated to the stars, for that night was moonless. The clear voices of the Elves that sang them resounded from time to time in the nocturnal air, accompanied by a harp or lute, but beyond that, there was no greater sound than the night breeze.  
On the roof of the cottage, a lean figure crouched, black hair fluttering around the thoughtful face. Green eyes studied the night. Wound around her waist was a whip and a long rope with a grappling hook: beneath the black suit, her chest rose and fall slowly. Laura Kinney, known as X-23 in another world, was ready to escape.  
She had spent many nights on the roof of her cottage all around. The Elves supposed that she liked to see the Moon and the stars. Certainly, the Moon had a certain attraction for her, and she loved to see it, especially in this place where she could see it shine in all its splendor, without light or air pollution.  
But while she sat up here, she had drawn in the wood, with her own blood, a map of her surroundings. There were places she could not see, and she had learned what she could from the guards.  
The Gates were far away and getting through them was not going to be easy. For a moment, she had decided to climb the Echoriath instead of escaping through the Gates, but the mountains were high, and her ropes would not reach the top. If she used her claws to climb, that would produce noise.  
She had quickly realized that the Elves had ears as fine or better than hers, and like her, could see perfectly in the dark. They would surely hear the noise she would make, and she would not be able to escape in time.  
There was the possibility of taking hostages. A guard would work. Laura knew they were well trained, but they would never have the same ability as any of the Elf-lords, so there she had a chance of defeating them, and either killing them or holding them hostage. Unfortunately, she did not know what the reaction would be. Most likely, the other Elves would look to free the hostage, because they attached great importance to life, but the hostage might be so self-sacrificing he would choose death over allowing her to flee. So, that idea was out of the question.  
In short, everything depended on going unnoticed and leaving by the Gates. Laura knew that every day, a detachment of Elves from one of the Eleven Houses went out to investigate Tumladen and the Echoriath. Maybe a good idea would be to shoot an Elf from his horse and flee to the mountains. There, she would have to leave the horse and continue on foot. It would not be easy. She would have to watch her six carefully, because of the Great Eagles. But what the hell! She had managed to real achievements of escape. This might be one of the most difficult, or perhaps the most difficult. But, it would be a triumph in her long list of triumphs.  
With a spring, she jumped to the next roof and landed silently. This part was easy, it was when she was on the ground that the difficult part would begin.  
She took another leap. There was complete silence, only broken by some ethereal chants of that immortal race. For a moment, Laura felt her heart clench. She had heard the sound of a distant harp, and wondered, that if things could have retained the status quo, she and Glorfindel would be in the garden, having a good time. Although that Elf was exasperating, he made her forget her past and see into the future ... he had even made her smile! She shook her head, annoyed. This was no time to think about such trivialities.  
A guard passed by, patrolling the Way of Running Waters, where she was. She crouched quickly, so he would not see her shadow. Once he had disappeared, Laura jumped once more and found him looking towards the stars. Why did the stars attract Elves so much? It was a question she had asked herself several times and could not find an explanation. But at that moment, the fact that the elves loved to see the stars and, especially that the guard kept looking at them, ruined everything.  
There was no other way but that route, and the damn Elf was ruining everything because he was dazzled by the stars. She did not hesitate. Silently, she unwound the whip from her belt and was about to strike the death blow, when she stopped abruptly, the cloth snaking onto the roof. The wind carried a faint smell that made her frown fiercely. She recognized Glorfindel in that scent.  
'+*+*!' Laura mumbled inwardly. '*++*!'  
Perhaps she did not know Glorfindel very well, but she was sure that after the way she had treated him, the Elf-lord would seek to make her life miserable. And maybe that was why he had come back to the cottage. She sat silent for a few seconds. She could go on her way, but then her escape would soon be discovered, or she could go back and pretend that she was asleep and did not want to see him ... even if that was not true. Immediately she decided on the second option. Whether she liked it or not, it was better to return as soon as possible.  
Retracing her path, she returned her cottage and entered just as Glorfindel passed through the gate. For a moment, the Chieftain paused beneath the flower-clad arch, unsure of how to continue. His ruined harp was in his hands. He had determined to give the broken instrument to the woman and see her reaction. Then, he would know whether his conclusions were valid.  
Those moments he lingered beneath the flowers, Laura washed her face and forearms, covered her suit and boots with a long robe, disheveled her hair, and lay down on the soft bed, although she never parted from any of her weapons.  
No sooner had she laid down, when she heard Glorfindel knock on the door. No, she would not answer, she would ignore him. She would only reopen the wound she had. He knocked again firmly, and this time asked her to open the door. Laura closed her eyes in denial.  
"Hwa-Young?"  
She stayed still, and at last there was silence. She was sitting up slowly when the door opened. Her hand flew to her whip, ready to attack as soon as she saw his silhouette.  
He put something on the floor, and the door closed gently behind him.  
Laura let several minutes pass before she got up. She opened a window, leaned out and breathed deeply of the night air. He was gone. Neither her sight nor her sense of smell could detect any sign of him. She was about to remove her robe and return to the roof when the glint of an object on the threshold caught her eyes. She unraveled her whip and approached cautiously.  
For the second time that night, the whip fell from her hands: it was Lord Glorfindel's harp.

***

The stars of the next evening found Laura seated on the bench beneath the oak, where she and Glorfindel had spent their nights arguing and getting to know each other, using the song as an excuse to do so. In her hands was the mangled harp. She was staring at it, the wound she had forced to close by stifling the pain, opened. How the hell did that stupid Elf do such a thing?  
Last night she had stayed in her bed, her face hidden by pillows. Laura had never cried, but on that occasion, a single tear had slipped from her eyes. She had wiped away that lone tear in rage. She was not weak! She did not cry! She could not afford to feel sad or lonely or helpless. She must always have had to be strong and tough, ready to face everything alone! That was what she had learned and that was what had kept her alive! And here was a damn elf named Glorfindel, who was ruining everything!  
For the first time in a very long time, Laura felt a huge remorse and a tremendous desire to apologize. But she was not like that. She had never done it ... not for a long time and when she had ... she had done it very awkwardly.  
Eventually, the night led her out to sit on the bench, and she obeyed with knowing why. She could have tried to escape that night, but instead, she sat on the bench, watching the shattered harp and remembering how she had learned that song.

***

Flashback

"Come on, Petite. The message our infiltrator left us is supposed to be here," said Remmy, jerking his thumb towards the store.   
Laura nodded silently.   
They were both mutants, finding their similarities in a dark past, instead of their characters. She was tough, quiet, aggressive, calculating, sarcastic, mocking, manipulative. Remmy, although calculating, was a womanizer, friendlier and skilled in manipulations, especially with women. He was not aggressive, he preferred to use words, and he was warm, giving her surprises just see her smile. Sometimes, opposite attract.   
They entered the music store, and Remmy suggested, "Do you want to split up? That way we'll find it quicker."   
Remmy was a formidable opponent, but he was fully aware he was working with a professional assassin, who had been programmed before birth to be proficient in everything related to that profession. Her mutation allowed her to do things and resist things that would kill other mutants. Therefore, he treated her as a partner and over time, he had ended up considering her as his friend. He did not have the slightest idea why he wanted to help her and know her. Laura was not the kind of woman he liked: neither for beauty nor for temper. But he wanted to know and help Laura and little by little he had made her open up, and they had formed a kind of friendship.   
Laura nodded, and moved to her side of the story, quickly reviewing everything, but she could not distinguish anything in the aggregation of the CDs and the DVDs. She was going to head over to where Remmy was still looking when an album caught her eye. It was an old album, but it had just been imported to the country.   
She frowned as she read the name of the album. It was written in Celtic. Laura spoke many languages but did not speak any of the Brythonic or Goidelic languages, although she had a reasonable notion of the history. Out of curiosity, she put on the headphones and began to listen. Unquestionably the music was very different from any she had heard before. The melodies captivated her, and she continued listening, enjoying for the first time the sound of each one of the instruments, each one of the notes that constituted the melody. Lost in the tunes, a hand on her shoulder startled her. She spun around, punching her fist towards the chest of her attacker.   
Remmy jumped aside, exclaiming in a low voice. "Easy Petite! I found what we were looking for,"   
Laura took off her the headphones and nodded silently. She would never apologize because that was her reaction: the best defense is the offense. She snatched the message from his hand and left the music store, leaving Remmy studying the album she had neglected to put away.   
"Look, Petite. I brought you something," he said later when they were at the hotel.  
"Food?" She replied, "I'm hungry."  
Remmy smiled. Laura was not hungry, she could stand several weeks without eating, but she liked the Parisian food.  
"If you want, we're going to eat at the restaurant across the street, but first I want you to see what I brought you." He pulled the album she had been listening to out of his pocket.   
She frowned at it in surprise, and then looked up at Remmy.   
"I thought you would like," he answered, shrugging indifferently, but his grin said something much different. "Take it," he said, handing the album and the laptop with headphones.   
"Thanks," she muttered.  
"I'm going to go for food. I'll be back for a while," Remmy answered, but she knew that he meant 'You're welcome'.   
A couple of hours later, Remmy returned with the food and was setting it down on the kitchen table when a noise made him stop. Someone was singing. Approaching silently, he found Laura in the living room. Her eyes were closed as she sang along with the album. At her side was a notebook where she had written down the notes of the song she was singing.   
Remmy arched a dark eyebrow, and moved closer, paying attention the lyrics. In the end, his eyes were damp. The song perfectly described what Laura had shown him of what she felt; he is a person who shared a dark past with her, understand at the moment more than ever that the woman whom everyone feared was more than the savage, calculating assassin.

***

The wind brought another scent over the smell of May blossoms. Laura turned her head slowly and fixed her eyes on the Elf-Lord. For a lengthy moment, they watched each other. Finally, Glorfindel entered the garden, and sat down on the other side of the bench, in his accustomed place.  
Once again, they studied each other for a long time. Seconds stretched into minutes and wore on into longer measures of times. The blue eyes of the Elf-Lord searched for answers in the empty green eyes of the woman.  
Finally, Glorfindel smiled slightly, showing her in his eyes rather than his words that he forgave her. He had been angry, but her song was more important than his pride, and she even more so. If his judgment were true, that was what crossed the woman's mind.  
The dark veil that prevented him from seeing what she thought, lifted, and he saw in return for his forgiveness sadness, infinite sadness and remorse. But chiefly pain, a pain caused by the shattered harp she held in her hands.  
Moved by some strange thought, that he would rejoice at many years later, he offered his hand, as he would to a brother-in-arms, expecting her to clasp her wrist. She observed his hand suspiciously, but finally, to his surprise, grasped his hand with a reluctance that almost approached timidity.  
He would never know why he briefly caressed the back of her hand and squeezed it gently. But many years later he would congratulate himself for having followed his heart, for it had begun something that would lead him to the one his Fëa had chosen.  
When he did this, Laura looked up quickly, and he saw an untold gratitude. She squeezed his hand in return, her green eyes shining.  
They looked at their clasped hands for a moment, and finally, Glorfindel let go.  
"Since we do not have a harp at the moment, mayhaps you teach me the lyrics of the refrain," he said softly.  
Laura ducked her head and smiled shyly, her gaze low but bright.  
"Repeat after me," she said after a few moments "'Hey!'"  
"'Hey!" he repeated awkwardly, at which she smiled.  
"And here we go!" she continued.  
"A… an… and… he… he… re… here…. we… go!"


	15. Of Lords and laughter

Chapter 15: Of Lords and Laughter

Five Months Later (Narquelië {October} The Leaf-Fading, First Age 461) 

Since the reconciliation between Glorfindel and Laura, there had been a considerable change. Glorfindel would never have dreamed that this unkind woman, accustomed to isolation, could be so grateful. Anyone would believe otherwise, and for good reason, but a touch of her hand had had great meaning for her. That little gestures of kindness had made such a mark on her that she had begun to reveal herself. Yet, she remained a mystery to him: many of her expressions and gestures were unclear to him, and there were still times when what he deemed she said and what she did was contrary to each other.  
Nevertheless, he made many advances, and of these he was proud and glad, because he was the only one among the Elf-Lords who could understand this strange mortal, and he had a latent hope that he would be able to introduce her before the Council and reveal that she was far different from the creature they thought her to be.  
Every lemnar, he spent several nights with her. The song was still his excuse, now that he was learning the words of the refrain. In truth, it was challenging. Learning the melody had been child's play compared to learning the words. The words and annunciations were joined together so differently and the place where the pronunciation was made was so contrary to the cadence of his mother tongues, that it hurt his mouth. Nonetheless, he rehearsed them endlessly.  
His teacher was no longer as impatient or discourteous, but she was still less than tender-hearted. Old habits do not die quickly, they cling to the person, like a vine to the trunk of a tree, with all their strength, primarily if the person was youthful when these habits began. They stay until the last moment, clinging tenaciously to their possession, and without a great patience and strong will, they do not flee.  
That was Laura. As long as she could remember, she had been taught that way and had only changed her manner to deceive her victims. She was a master of deception and adopted the character that would benefit her the most. Her victim often would have sworn that the temper she showed was her true disposition, only to realize too late, during the torture or the murder, since Laura allowed her victim to see her face clearly. This was because the Facility ordered her so, and she wished to see their faces as they died. A man only shows his true self at the moment of Death, and Laura knew that very well.  
But it was different now. Laura did not want to hurt Glorfindel again. She would hurt him physically, psychologically or emotionally, if she considered it necessary: but this resource would only be put into practice if she had no other choice. Her real character was cold: hard, calculating and manipulative, accustomed to isolation. She did not care what other people would think, but this Elf was different. He had offered her his hand and gripped hers. Glorfindel was different and she made some effort to be kinder to him, but bad habits die hard.  
Glorfindel had a patience with her that would have surpassed any other person's, but he was also a high-born Lord and would not allow Laura to scorn him, so they still bickered, but to a far lesser degree, and sometimes they forgot the song, and Glorfindel would tell her some trifle about the Elves. He could not afford to give knowledge to her. He only knew her shallowest layers.

***

"'Hey! Here we go,  
Through the grass, across the snow.  
Big brown beastie, big brown face-'"  
Laura stopped abruptly and slapped the bench with her open palm in exasperation.  
"No! No, no, no!"  
Glorfindel looked at her in surprise. He thought he had articulated the words reasonably well. What was his mistake?  
"This is the last straw!" muttered Laura.  
"What is the last straw?" he asked surprised. "I believe I uttered the words rightly."  
"No, it's not the words! It's the timing!" Exclaimed Laura.  
Glorfindel frowned at her. "Timing?"  
"The timing, the rhythm. And you Quendi you think you know all about Music!"  
Glorfindel looked at her. Assuredly, she would never forgive them that she was forced to remain in Gondolin outside her free will, but because his race was greater than hers. He must have had patience: she was only a child compared to him.  
"Enlighten me then, Hwa-Young," he said, his voice challenging.  
Laura narrowed her eyes.  
"They are double eighth notes, Elf, double eighth notes! Don't you understand?!"  
Glorfindel almost laughed at her absurdity. By the stars and seas, what were double eighth notes?  
"Oh, for God's sake!" said Laura. "For God's sake! This Elf does not know what a double eighth note is! And he plays the harp without knowing this! "  
His mirth departed in an instant.  
"This Elf has a name. He is an Elf-Lord of Gondolin, and as such, you should treat him, Hwa-Young," he said coldly, stressing his noble birth.  
Laura stared at him for a moment and raised her eyebrow in contempt.  
"I would, if only this Elf-lord did things right, and did not show such an overwhelming ignorance." she answered, accenting her disdain of rank.  
He stood up, furious. Ignorant! Certainly, he was not as couth as Ecthelion, but he was not ignorant! Above all, he was far more knowledgeable than the ill-bred mortal who dared to call him such. Laura crossed her arms and legs and leaned back, her eyebrows lifted in a mocking smile while her lips remained motionless.  
Glorfindel, in spite of his anger, knew that she would now allow herself to be intimidated by any threats. If he left, she would not attempt to stop him, even less ask him to return. She was willing to do anything, even hurt herself with paying any heed to it. However, the manner in which she had crossed her arms and legs showed that this was a way of protecting herself from something that would pain her, but that she was prepared to endure without yielding to him.  
Glorfindel sat down, holding her gaze. He refused to retrace the path that had been so hard to travel and waste his labor in one outbreak of anger. The woman had begun to trust him, it could well happen that, if he left, she would lock herself away, forever. He drew a deep breath, to calm himself and show her he was trying to control his anger, instead of repeating the conflict that had happened some months ago. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Laura was staring at him, unblinkingly. She looked over his body, and finally, met his eyes with a penetrating gaze. Surely, she desired to verify the truthfulness of his attitude. After a few minutes, she relaxed. Once she had looked up at the golden-leafed oak, she said,  
"I have a question. If the Quendi are so 'pro', that is to say, they are much better than the others. " she explained when she saw his expression. "Why do you hide in here?"  
"Outside our walls is the Unnamed One-"  
"Yes, yes, I know," she said, sighing wearily. "You told me that story the day you decided to make me stay here. You do not need to repeat it."  
"Then why do you ask something you already know?" He replied, irked at the gesture she had made.  
"Because it does not make sense. You pride yourself on being better than Men and having qualities that no one else has. Then why are you hiding? In my opinion, Men may not have all the super qualities that you claim to have, but they are braver than you because they are out there dealing with the infamous Unnamed."  
Glorfindel paused to answer. Her argument was seemingly valid. The Men did not have the strength, nor the speed, nor any of their qualities, and yet they remained unprotected. But neither did the race of the Men have the wrath of the Válar on them, nor did the Unnamed One hated them to the measure that he hated the Quendi.  
"Have ... have you ever wondered where she is? The Queen? "he asked after a moment. His voice was serious and low.  
"Ah, yes ... once."  
Glorfindel did not answer. He thought she would have wondered numerous times about the Queen. Laura continued.  
"I thought there were only two possibilities considering the Law you have about entering or leaving Gondolin: either she was very sick and cannot leave her chambers; or more probably, she is dead. Once I knew about the Quendi's skills, and certainly, you have never tired of rubbing them in my face, and Nestaë's ability, the answer was obvious. The Queen is dead." she finished with an indifferent shrug.  
Glorfindel refrained from showing his surprise at her astuteness.  
"You are right," he answered earnestly. "The Lady Elenwë died while crossing Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice." He paused as his eyes fastened on a distant place behind Laura. In his mind, the terrible moment was relived, the journey that had cost so many lives. "'The Pass of Helcaraxë is a place of cold and ice, where no stars can pierce. It is a place of Death, cursed by those who came before. While we crossed, the ice broke beneath the feet of Lady Elenwë who was carrying Princess Idril. I..." he paused. "The Princess, who was then naught but a babe, was saved, but Elenwë perished in the icy waters."  
Laura remained silent for a moment. The tale had interested her so that she was thoughtful.  
"And why were you crossing that place? Were you fleeing the infamous Unnamed? " She asked after a few moments.  
Glorfindel looked at the leaf that fluttered down, pulled by the winter wind. Memories brought pain. He wished many times during the Crossing to have remained in the Blessed Realms. But nay, the Noldor had decided the protection of the Válar and the beauty of the land was not sufficient. They had chosen to leave, and retrieve the stolen Silmarilli, despite the commands of the Válar. They had chosen to conquer kingdoms for themselves, where it was they and not the Válar who ruled. Their rebellion had cost them dearly, and now they suffered the wrath of not only the Unnamed but the curse of those who had once been their benefactors.  
Yes, he had longed to stay; but he had an oath of allegiance to The Golden House of Finarfin, nor would he leave his mother and father. Now they were numbered among the souls of the dead, within the Halls of Mandos, the payment of the rebellion. His heart flinched as he remembered that they were now abandoned in Ennor, never to see fair Válinor again.  
"Lord Glorfindel!" A female voice made him return from his sad thoughts. He saw Laura looking at him expectantly. "What happened?"  
"No," he answered after a few moments. "No, we were not fleeing from the Unnamed. We were traveling here, to Ennor, leaving our home behind."  
"I thought that here was your home."  
Glorfindel shook his head, and his voice was low and tender as he spoke. "No, our home, our true home is Válinor, the Blessed Realms."  
"I suppose this Válinor must be a very beautiful place, considering your epithet for it."  
"More than you could dream," he said, his eyes brightening like fireflies. "None of the cities that we have built here compare to the cities of Válinor. Even Gondolin is only a memory of Tirión, and Tumladen a faint echo of the Pastures of Yavanna."  
Laura replied bitterly. "Well, like it or not, I'll have to trust your word. After all, you keep me locked in here all the time."  
The light in his blue eyes dimmed, but he smiled faintly at her.  
"If you were kinder to the others, as you are with me, I assure you King Turgon would suffer you to walk through Gondolin-"  
"Do not feel unique, buddy," Laura snapped, interrupting him again. "'As you are with me'! " she mimicked. "What presumption!"  
Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. 'Buddy'? Her use of it was belittling, whether or not that was its initial meaning.  
"It is because of those words you are here kept in your cottage, Hwa-Young," he told her quietly. "If you would but treat us kindly, your situation would be wholly changed. I assure you."  
Laura rolled her eyes.  
"Anyway," she said as if careless of the words of the Elf-Lord. "If Válinor is so beautiful, why leave a home like that? It's absurd."  
It was indeed foolish, but pride had blinded many of his kin, and those who had their vision clear had come to Ennor under an oath to the House of Finarfin.  
"It is a lengthy tale," he said simply.  
Laura raised an eyebrow, demanding him to tell her; but he met her gaze, challenging her to lure the story for him. Finally, Laura seemed to admit defeat and asked,  
"And why are you hiding?"  
"I already-"  
"I was not finished talking," she broke in harshly.  
Glorfindel saw he had interrupted her, and felt it only fair, considering the number of times she had done the same through this one conversation. Raising his eyebrow, he waited.  
"Why are you hiding?" she repeated. "You claim that you are much better than the race of Men, you rub it in over and over again. Therefore, why hide? Why not face the Unnamed? It's the actions and not the words that really matter. It makes me think you're bluffing about being so superior."  
"Bluffing?" Glorfindel repeated slowly.  
"Yes. When you claim that you know or have certain skills or money, but in reality, you neither know nor have them. It's exactly what I think. You tell me that you can see in the dark, that you can run faster, you can stand the cold better than anyone, you are immortal, and blah, blah, blah ... but you stay locked in your pretty glass bubble called Gondolin. That's what makes me think that you are bluffing. Or maybe you are not bluffing, but you are not able to face what is out there."  
Glorfindel looked at her in silence, his blue eyes ice.  
"It is clear that you do not have the faintest idea of aught beyond the Echoriath," he said coldly. "Do you think you could face what hunts there? You nearly died because of an Orco wound. I accept that the healing ability of your women is wonderful but think well. If it were not for that and that you were brought here, you would have been dead long ago. And if you think that with those arguments you will convince me to release you, you are mistaken. If you wish to face the dangers there, we will not stop you, it is your life, and you can do with it as you please. But it is for our own safety that we have forced you to remain among us."  
Laura narrowed her eyes to hear the word 'forced.' Another time, she would have answered acerbically, for his words had hurt her, but she was able to see that she had overstepped her boundaries. She never wished to repeat what had happened with his harp, unless it was really indispensable, and this decidedly did not merit it. So, all she said was,  
"Do you think I don't know what life is, Lord Glorfindel?" Her voice was sharp and low. "Do you think me so naïve because I'm younger than you? No, no, you are very wrong. I know Life much more than you can even imagine." Her voice rose as she continued. "You do not have the remotest idea of what my life has been all these years, and believe me, ignorance is bliss in this case, because if you knew, you would be horrified, Lord Glorfindel."  
The Elf-lord frowned. Those words guarded a secret far greater than could be imagined. He noticed the young woman's gaze, like endless well in which secrets were hidden, painful secrets. He was about to speak when Laura arrested his words.  
"Do not think I'm going to tell you what happened to me. You do not have my trust yet, Lord Glorfindel. But you, Quendi, are immortal, right? So, Time should not be a problem for you, if it really interests you." she added, her voice a mocking challenge.  
Glorfindel sat for a moment in stunned silence. He believed that he had a small share of her confidence, and now he knew that he had nothing. What would he have to do to earn it? But she had said it. Time did not trouble him, and even if it took him all her life to know her, he would gain it.  
Laura got up from the bench and headed towards her cottage, evidently troubled. He thought she had remembered things that hurt her. Glorfindel rose as well, knowing any attempt to allay her distress or distract her would not help. What was done was done and he and she would have to handle it. He headed towards the archway. Its flowers were slowly fading. Autumn's cool wind was taking the blooms one by one, preparing all for Winter's snow.  
"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young."  
Laura made no answer and opened the door, but before entering she turned and stared at him for a moment.  
"I will be much younger than you and a simple firíma, but rest assured: the bigger the pride, the harder the fall is and the worse the humiliation. You, Quendi, are not who you think you are. If you were, you would have a little more humility and accept the race of Men without disdain. Entire kingdoms have been destroyed by their pride. Their pride blinded them, so they challenged other kingdoms that were more powerful than they and could not overcome them. The payment for their defeat was total annihilation. 'We are strong, we live in fortified cities hidden in the mountains. We have the best lookouts that see everything from the mountain peaks that guard us. We have a great army and we are a warrior people with abilities that surpass others,' you say. Those were the words of the kingdom of Edom. And now ... what is it? It is a lonely wasteland in the middle of the desert. What people live there now? Only birds of prey and snakes live there. Believing themselves to be hidden among the mountains, they dared to challenge those who were stronger than them. The result was extermination. The Quendi are not the exception. They maybe be immortal, but their arrogance will lead them to challenge those who they cannot overcome. And as for hiding? Sometimes it works, but it means living all your life in a cage. And even if such a thing were not so, no secret lasts for all eternity. You do not know it, but the words spoken in the corner of a hidden chamber, are sung by birds in the ears of the people who should never hear them." Her voice was empty, but her words had such weight Glorfindel felt a chill along his back.  
"May you have a blessed day, Lord Glorfindel." Laura finished, nodding slightly. And she closed the door behind her softly.  
The Elf-lord stood for a moment, looking towards the door. It seemed that she had just told him about the Rebellion of the Noldor. How did she know it? Or was it another conclusion she had inferred? But no! She did not even know about the existence of the Válar! How could she do that? As for what she had said about the kingdom of Edom? It seemed a symbol for Gondolin.  
He left, repeating Hwa-young's ominous words in his mind. They rang too near to prophesy for comfort, too near to the dark words of the Prophecy of the North: "Great is the fall of Gondolin."

***

Laura's POV

'To tell the truth, I never believed that the Quendi were simultaneously both so naïve and so proud. Well, true, I did not have a good concept of them. Their arrogance towards anyone who is not one of them is unbearable, and it is obvious that that pride has made them suffer. That to leave a paradise to go to a place which turns out to be a fictitious paradise? It is completely absurd! I thought Turgon would be a little more sensible, but apparently not.  
I do not know what happened, but I do know one thing: these Elves, these Quendi challenged someone who was much stronger than them, and now they are here hiding, unable to leave this fabricated El Dorado. I only had to see the change in Glorfindel's posture and hear the way his heart changed its rhythm to discern that. Something happened and the fact that I spoke in such a way caught him off his guard.  
In short, it is their fault. They made their bed, now they must lie in it. The story of Lord Maeglin is now fully explained. Surely it must be terrible for Turgon to know that his sister is dead because of her desire for freedom, because she could not walk as freely here as she could in this Válinor. Certainly, Eöl had a lot to do with that; but because of Turgon's pride, his people were locked up and his sister was confined, led to the chain of events that resulted in what Lord Maeglin status quo. What pride can do! And yet, these Elves are still as proud as before. Their pride and their certainty that they have duped whoever they have made their enemy will be their undoing.  
Since they think they are perfect and all-knowing... I will show them that they are very wrong. Oh! I want to see the face of Lord Ecthelion! Fortunately, it is he and not Duilin who is coming today. I have to admit that the good Lord of the Fountains is the second Elf that pleases me. Yes, I want to see his expression when I greet him!’

***

Glorfindel's POV

'By the Válar! How is it possible that this daughter of Men has been able to make such inferences?!  
She is surely an observant and insightful woman, who observes, analyzes, and learns. That is how she learned our tongue.   
One like that is a dangerous person, but I believe that though she has a skill which makes her dangerous, she has a good heart. The gesture I gave her-only the great Erú knows why I did it-showed me she is a grateful woman, remarkably grateful. The least signs that show good will and kindness, indicate her thankfulness.   
And now her ability to draw conclusions has left me with nothing less than bewilderment. It is as if she knew about the Rebellion of the Noldor. Has someone told her? Lord Maeglin? Will she have heard it from among the guards? I do not believe it, none will talk about that journey and our banishment from our homeland, although it weighs always on our minds.   
Her words about the Kingdom of Edom took hold of my attention, but not as much as what she said about her past. Why should I be horrified at how she lived her life? She has already told us what she has lived. Assuredly, that was terrible, but she was referring to something else, something she hid from us. What is it? I do not know, but I'll find out some day. After all, Quendi are immortal, and Time does not trouble us.'

***

The wind blew cold, heralding Winter's fast approach, who was ready to cloak Gondolin in a white blanket that would rival the marble of the City.  
Although it was early morning, the Sun did not shine with the splendor of summer. Its light was hidden by autumn clouds. The wind toyed with them, stripping the leaves from the trees in its play.  
Lord Ecthelion, had braided his hair with great care. If there was aught that displeased the Elf-Lord, it was that his long hair was pulled about in the wind and into his eyes.  
He entered the garden, and knocked thrice, firmly on the door. In a few minutes, the door opened, and Laura appeared. Her black hair was wet, she had only finished bathing.  
"Hwa-Young," he acknowledged, bowing his head slightly in greeting. "Would you allow me to pass?"  
Ecthelion was, after Glorfindel, the friendliest towards her. Although he did not have any obligation to ask her permission, he did it so that the young woman would feel secure, and so she was not invaded to a great extent. He asked where she wished to eat so that the servant might lay the table, and if the food pleased her. Finally, he concluded these kindnesses, in saying that if she required aught she need only let his guards know, and perhaps they would provide it. In this way, he thought to get the young girl out of her dour mood, and he knew, that she would bend unless he showed more pliancy.  
That morning, after evaluating the cottage and showing his common kindness, he turned and said to her, although she usually only answered with a nod.  
"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young."  
"Likewise, Lord Ecthelion," she answered kindly, forgoing her expressionless tone.  
Ecthelion looked at her in surprise, and Laura smirked, amused at his reaction. Clearly, her answer had its reason, because she never did aught without a clear objective. "Thank you," he answered quietly, although somewhat unsure of his words.  
Her smile grew as she saw the unmistakable surprise of the most peaceful and serious of the Elf-lords.  
"You're welcome. May you have a blessed day, Lord Ecthelion," she replied. Clearly, she was playing with him.  
Ecthelion returned her smile and repeated. "Have a blessed day, Hwa Young. Come Lothelen, let us return."  
He gestured to the servant to go ahead of him, while he mused on what had occurred. Was she doing it out of double-heartedness or had she truly learned her lesson? He stopped: his keen ear had heard a sound. He was less than a rod from Hwa-young's cottage, near enough to hear her laughter. For laughter, it was, genuine and full of mirth.  
"Oh! I want to see Glorfindel when he hears about this!" she exclaimed between giggles.  
Ecthelion continued silently. Laura went to the half-open window when she knew he had gone, and leaned on the sill, smiling again, mischievously, and even mockingly. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed herself so much.  
"And no doubt he will know very soon," she told herself.


	16. A decision for life

Chapter 16: A Decision for Life

Rog's great mace struck Culumaica, and a shiver ran up the blade into Glorfindel's hands, while the brassy clang resounded over the training field.  
Surrounded by a crowd of Elves interested in the duel evolving, the two combatants fought.  
The Lord of the House of Hammer of Wrath was known for his physical strength, the greatest that could be found amongst all the Noldor within and without Gondolin. For this reason, his favored weapon was the mace. Qualmenamba, the Hammer of Death, was so heavy it was rumored that it took three common Elves to lift it, but Rog wielded with ease and swiftness.  
However, he had found a worthy opponent. Despite his youth, Glorfindel had earned respect among the Elf-lords for not only his courage but also his handling of the sword. Once Culumaica was unsheathed, he was one of the most dangerous warriors who remained in Beleriand, and only a well-trained Lord would have been able to confront with him with the hope of victory.  
But Rog was also a formidable enemy, and the fight between the Lords was intense and had drawn many curious spectators. They had been struggling for three hours, the odds wavering now between one, now the other.  
Glorfindel blocked a powerful blow from Qualmenamba, and feinted, attempting to disorient his opponent. A murmur rose from the onlookers, as their eyes vainly tried to follow the movement of Culumaica, who seemed to have taken a life of its own, such was the speed of his attacks.  
But Rog was not intimidated. The Noldo considered the third greatest in valor, kept his blood cold and his mind clear, arresting each of the fierce, precise attacks that his young assailant threw him.  
Glorfindel spread his legs in a long compass, his body leaning slightly forward, his left arm back to maintain the balance, while his fully extended right arm launched a spearing blow towards Rog's chest. Rog raised his hammer, but before his mace could touch the blade, Glorfindel flicked his hand, moving his sword around the mace and attacking from the other side.  
Rog leaped backward out of Culumaica's reach, but Glorfindel was not so easily defeated. Before Rog attacked, he immediately launched himself towards the Noldo again, using the same tactic, and this time stopped his opponent's powerful blow.  
Rog blocked the strike quickly, and with Qualmenamba, rained down such a powerful blow that Glorfindel was forced to drop his sword. Then he swung his hammer down towards Glorfindel's head. The Elf evaded the blow with a quick duck, reaching for his sword. He rolled on the ground, grasping for his sword. His fingers brushed the hilt, when the shadow covered the noon-sun and made him look up.  
Rog was less than a step away from him, his mace ready to strike. Glorfindel thought that if he grabbed his sword he might be able to stop the attack and even lunge up towards Rog's belly. But in the second Glorfindel hesitated, Rog put his foot in such a way that when Glorfindel attempted to lunge for his sword, he fell down. Then he swung such a terrible blow.  
Glorfindel, with amazing speed, sprung up from the ground, but this movement was already anticipated. He found the spike on Qualmenamba a few inches from his chest.  
Lord Rog raised a dark eyebrow, waiting to for Glorfindel to accept his defeat. Glorfindel quickly measured his chances. It was impossible that he could reach to move before the other hurt him and even less it was possible that he could recover Culumaica, so he said reluctantly,  
"You win."  
Rog smiled, lowered his mace and offered his arm like a brother in arms. Glorfindel clasped his wrist and returned his smile.  
"You truly are a formidable adversary," Rog said, slapping him on the back. "You are quick, and your attacks are dangerous." He chuckled. "Who would have thought that the young Quendë who did not know which end of a sword to hold would be on the verge of defeating me?"  
Glorfindel wiped sweat from his eyes, flushing a little. Rog had seen him when he was learning to fence. The footwork had come naturally to him, for his mother had been a dancer, and he inherited her grace, but the brute force was something far different. It was Rog's advice that allowed him to learn such things. And now, he had almost defeated him.  
"Many thanks, Rog, your words are kind," he replied, but his humble words could not hide the pride in his tone.  
Rog nodded, and departed to the palace, while Glorfindel jogged through the crowd to Lord Ecthelion, who had been watching the duel.  
"Ecthelion!" He cried cheerfully. Laura's ominous words had disappeared from his mind and in its place was the vigor of combat. "How are you faring?" he asked, going to a nearby fountain. "Will you also duel with me?" Glorfindel leaned over and drank from the icy water, before ducking his head in. There had been a frost last night, he realized, shivering at the cold embrace. When he did not hear an answer, he looked up and saw that his friend was staring at him with his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed. His penetrating gaze pierced his blue eyes.  
"What is it?" Asked Glorfindel, confused at his friend's attitude.  
"You and I have to talk." answered the Noldo, and taking his arm in an iron grip, led him away from the crowd.

***

"She did what!" exclaimed Glorfindel.  
"What you just heard," Ecthelion answered.  
The younger Elf frowned. Certainly, he knew very little about Hwa-Young, but the little he did know made him wander why she had greeted Ecthelion in that way.  
"Glorfindel, what's going on here?" Ecthelion asked, fixing his keen gaze on the blue eyes of his friend.  
Glorfindel asked, "What do you mean?"  
"You know well what I mean. Now many things are explained."  
Glorfindel frowned.  
"Do not pretend that you are innocent of what I speak," answered Ecthelion coolly. "All those nights you spent rehearsing that strange melody. Then Hwa-Young taught you the correct notes, is that not so?" Before Glorfindel could answer, he went on. "And those strange words that you repeat over and over, trying to learn them, is something that Hwa-Young also taught you, or am I wrong, Glorfindel?"  
The young Chieftain of the Golden Flower opened his mouth and closed it again, without uttering a single word.  
"What is happening here, Glorfindel?" Ecthelion demanded. "Will you tell me, or will you tell King Turgon?"  
Glorfindel looked at Ecthelion. He knew his friend as unbending as steel and was willing to go to any lengths to get the answer. Once again, he weighed his possibilities. Hwa-Young's trust in him was at risk. at the gray eyes at the Noldo and realized the determination of him. He knew well that she was a woman who protected herself jealously by means of secrecy, and he knew that the threads of confidence he barely grasped could be easily broken and never recovered.  
Telling someone, even Ecthelion, meant that this secret would no longer be secret. Now it would be known to another, and he did not know what Hwa-young's reaction would be. Maybe she would be angered, or maybe she would not mind. Unfortunately, he still did not know her well enough to be sure what she would do. It would most likely be the second option, for he thought she liked Ecthelion and she knew that he was a close friend.  
"Glorfindel."  
His name took him away from his thoughts.  
Glorfindel nodded. He would trust his friend and his judgment. and pray to Erú and the Válar that Hwa-young's reaction would be favorable.

***

"A little over a year ago- the night we went to her cottage to make peace with her-I heard someone singing." he began. "You remember that you told me we should return, but I answered it was not necessary?"  
Ecthelion nodded.  
"I told you so," Glorfindel continued. 'Because I knew it was Hwa-Young singing. Once we took separate paths, I returned to the cottage and found that I was not wrong. Hwa-Young was seated on the roof, singing a song that I had heard on previous occasions."  
"When?"  
"When she was in the Healing Houses, the day the Princess Idril came to see her. I was furious for I thought Celebrindal was in great danger. I went to threaten Hwa-Young, but I stopped when I heard her singing the same song that several months later I would hear singing on the roof of her cottage." he paused. "The first time I saw her singing, her face showed great loneliness, but also some gladness. The song was comforting her. But the second time I saw her sing it ... her look, Ecthelion, her look ... I will never forget it. "  
"What did you see?" Asked the Noldo, his grey eyes inquisitive.  
"I do not know." Glorfindel shook his head. "Truly, Ecthelion, it is something I cannot describe to you only because I could not describe it myself. I only know that, for some strange reason, I felt moved to learn the song and, in this way,, lighten her loneliness, add happiness to her life. So, for two months, I dedicated myself to learn it on my harp." He chuckled. "It was difficult. The song was foreign to me, and Music was never my gift. Nevertheless, when I felt I had enough skill to play it, I went to her cottage one night, when it was guarded by my House, and played it. At first, she was indifferent, but eventually, she began taking note and sang the refrain with me. Since that night, every time it was the turn of my House, I went to see her with my harp and I played the song with her."  
"And the words?"  
Glorfindel sighed. How to tell what had happened without telling all?  
"There was ... there was a difficult moment between her and I" he said at the end "A moment that she and I would prefer to forget forever" he added. "For a while, it seemed that we would never speak again. The conversation was... heated, "he added with a slight frown as he remembered that night.  
"She broke your harp," said Ecthelion.  
Glorfindel nodded slowly, but the Noldo did not ask him why. Glorfindel cast his friend a look of silent gratitude and continued.  
"Yes, she broke my harp. For several months I was furious with her, but finally, I was moved to forgiveness... by I know not what. Whatever it was, it spurred me to forgive her and ignore that offense, and many others."  
Ecthelion raised a dark eyebrow. Glorfindel had a kind temper, but he was not one to easily forgive offenses.  
"Do not think I always let her treat me so harshly," Glorfindel said, guessing his friend's thought. "She and I bickered many times. It was after we made peace once more, that she became...kinder. Since I had no harp, I decided that I would learn the refrain of the song. That is what we are rehearsing, as well as the melody."  
"And what does the refrain say?" asked Ecthelion.  
"I do not know," answered Glorfindel, shaking his head mournfully. He already knew that reproach his friend would make.  
"You do not know what it says!" the Noldo cried in angry astonishment. "You do not know what you speak! What if it is a curse? Yours is a great imprudence, Glorfindel!"  
"Ecthelion, peace." pleaded the other Elf, raising his hand in token of submission. "I do not sense any magic in those words. And I assure you that you have not sensed it either, for otherwise, you would have inquired after more seriously, and a long time ago."  
Ecthelion did not answer. He had sensed no malice or even magic in the words. What his friend was learning was strange to him, but he had not given it much importance until now. He sighed, unable to remain angry long with his friend, but concerned for his sake.  
"Glorfindel," he began in a gentler tone. "What you did was still a great imprudence. What if you had invoked the name of the Unnamed? My friend, you must know beforehand what you are saying, elsewise you are putting us all at risk." he paused. "You know this firíma's temper and sharp tongue, and do you think you can trust her?"  
The half-Vanya knew that what his friend was saying was not without reason. But he also knew that the common opinion of the Lords was not entirely true: much of her cruel behavior was to protect herself.  
"You are right," he said. "I should have known what those words meant. But you are wrong, my friend, about Hwa-Young."  
The Noldo raised his eyebrow, willing to listen, although he had seen Hwa-young's insolence and spite.  
"I know what you are thinking," Glorfindel began. "I had the same opinion of her, but that is the personality she creates because it is her way of shielding herself."  
"From whom?" asked Ecthelion slowly.  
"From us. Emotionally, we pain her. It is a truth that the Children of the Sun have bodies and minds weaker than our own, but our pride stings her. Whether it is the truth or no, being shown their inferiority would outrage anyone. So, her way of guarding herself and, in turn, attacking us is through being vindictive and bitter. But, Ecthelion, she is much more. Certainly, she is not kind, but she is intelligent, as in the way she guessed what had happened to the Queen. She has some ability with music, and her voice is pleasing. But, her most beautiful characteristic is that of gratitude. Ecthelion, never in my life have I met someone as grateful as she is!" he said passionately, as he remembered the look of immense gratitude in her green eyes when he had taken her hand. "After I revealed her that I had forgiven, her gratitude was such that she slowly unlocked herself, and although she fails, strives to be kinder." He paused. "Ecthelion, Hwa-Young is not who we think she is. She is much more than we thought. We must know how to treat her, and we will discover her little by little. She is a woman who has suffered greatly," he added after a few moments. To his mind came the words that she had said that dawn. "Not only because of what happened to her family. There is a lot of suffering that she has hidden from us and that has overwhelmed her for years."  
"And I reckon you will find it out," Ecthelion said, his voice chill and precise.  
"Yes," he replied simply. "Even though it takes all her life, I will not stop trying. I will seek to know her by all means and, if I can, also help her."  
Ecthelion frowned. His friend had depths that he had not gauged.  
"So, she does not call you Blondie?"  
"No, not for several months."  
Ecthelion gripped his friend's shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile.  
"May fortune be upon your side."  
"Many thanks, for I need it," Glorfindel said with a smile.  
"And tell me: why did she greet me so kindly?" asked Ecthelion after a moment.  
The golden-haired Chieftain shook his head thoughtfully.  
"I could not tell you because I was not there," he said after a moment, "But from what I know of her, she did it to show us that the Quendi are not all-knowing, and we are not who we think we are."

***

Six Months Later (Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Víressë {April} The Springing, First Age 463)

The Sun was setting, disappearing slowly behind the Echoriath. The heavens were washed with streaks of gold and red, the silent splendor a farewell to the Heart of Fire. Golden clouds and crimson islets were surrounded by seas of deep blue, which grew deeper and darker, and the glory slowly gave way to the Moon and its nocturnal starry kingdom. Vàsa's farewell was beautiful, and the sky was a black net, in which glimmered silver drops, quivering as though they might drop into the hands of those who watched.  
Their armor glinting in the starlight, five guards of the Fountains, headed by Ecthelion, escorted Laura across the Square of the King, towards the palace.  
Laura wondered why. For over a year, she had been confined in the cottage by the King's orders; and now, strangely enough, the King sent for her. Was this another scolding? According to what she remembered, she had not given any reason for such a thing to happen. She had behaved impolitely or insolently to no one. Her and Maeglin had a friendly relationship; Ecthelion had gradually been kinder to her, as she was to him, and from time to time they talked.  
Glorfindel had inquired why she had greeted Ecthelion so kindly, he knew that she did nothing without a clear objective. She was well-aware of what she was doing, but she had not told him. Her relationship with half-Vanya had improved. Although she was not the personification of the kindness, she had tried, and allowed the Elf-lord to slowly get to know her. Now he knew more about her reactions and her expressions. He still ignored many things and it was obvious that it would take him a long time to get to know her completely, but he never stopped learning and she tried to keep being kinder in answer to his attention.  
Considering this, Laura did not understand and could not imagine why she had been summoned by Turgon.  
Once they entered the hallway before the Council chamber, Lord Ecthelion dismissed his guards, and they were left alone.  
"What's up, Lord Ecthelion?" Asked Laura uncomfortably. She liked the Noldo because he knew how to measure his words, and was smart and shrewd, but his cold gray gaze was unsettling. "Have I done something wrong? Because as far as I remember, I've been a good girl. I have not treated anyone badly, although not for lack of motive." she added with a tinge of mockery.  
"Listen to me, Hwa-Young. I want you to remember my words," Ecthelion told her, his voice low. "What Lord Glorfindel has done for you is something no Quendë has ever done for any of the Atani. I appreciate your improved behavior, but your manners leave much to be desired towards all the Lords." He paused. "My friend holds that is unjust that you are confined. He thinks you have the right to go out and breathe the fresh air without climbing on the roof of your cottage. He also believes that if we are kind to you, you would show kindness to us. Lord Glorfindel has an uncommon concept of you. He believes that you are more than what we see even now, that you could be gracious, and kind did we but know how to treat you. That is why he has spoken with the King, so you may wander around your cottage. It took much perseverance to make King Turgon agreed to have this hearing with you." Lord Ecthelion leaned, his gray eyes locked with her green eyes, while he spoke in a low and threatening voice. "You will not humiliate him and make him appear as one reckless and easily-deceived. He truly believes that there is more to you than anyone can dream and is willing to prove it. Do not make him look like a fool in front of the king, because if you do, I will hold you to pay dearly for what you did to my friend."  
Laura narrowed her eyes, and in the machine a dangerous light, but Ecthelion made no motion, only watched with a cold, penetrating look.  
"We'll see," she replied, her voice quiet and sharp.  
Elf and mortal watched each other with a fixed menace before the voice of the King was heard.

***

"Lord Glorfindel assures me that you have changed," Turgon said, once she was in his presence. "He says that you and he often talk during the night. Is this so?" he asked, fixing his grey eyes on her.  
Laura held his gaze impassively for a moment, her features an indifferent mask. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw Lord Glorfindel watching from a nook. Despite the shadows, she perceived that the Elf was watching her intently, with hope in his blue eyes, the hope of obtaining her a little more freedom, and consequently, cheering her up.  
Laura did not like being in Turgon's presence. The last time she was in front of him, the experience had not been pleasant, and Laura was still resentful toward him. But Glorfindel's gaze made her reconsider her answer. She answered quietly.  
"That's right, your Majesty."  
"And why have you changed?" Turgon asked. He wanted to know the reason for this and also wanted to see how much she was willing to be in front of his presence after what he had told her.  
"Because I realized that my attitude was not exactly the best."  
"Then why do you continue behaving coldly with the other Lords?"  
"Unlike the other Elf-lords, Lord Glorfindel was kind enough to try to know me even though I had called him 'Blondie'," Laura answered sincerely. "He has shown a more ... noble heart towards me and more kindness and understanding than all the other Elf-lords, with the sole exception of Lord Ecthelion and, to a lesser extent, Lord Maeglin."  
The King watched her, seeing the truth in the answers she had told him.  
"I am pleased that you considered my words, Hwa-Young. Although I still require you to continue improving your courtesy, your friendship with Glorfindel tells me you have changed, a little. Therefore, I will grant Glorfindel's request, and you may walk around your cottage."  
Laura nodded. She felt, for the first time in a long time, she was free for a few moments.  
"Hwa-Young, before you retire, I want to apologize." The voice of Turgon surprised her. "My words were not well chosen when I reprimanded you. I should never have spoken of your family. My anger was justified, but my cruel words were not. I hurt you, and I regret that."  
Laura blinked in quickly hidden astonishment. It had not been her fictitious family that had hurt her, but the fact that Noldor King had been honest with himself caused Laura to think, for the first time, that the Quendi might actually have a real quality.  
"No problem, your Majesty." she replied "Nothing happened here"  
Turgon nodded slightly in acquiescence.  
"You can retire. I will inform of the other Lords of this change, and hope that your manners improve," he added significantly.  
Laura sighed inwardly. That would be a challenge, especially with Duilin.  
"Have a fair evening, Hwa-Young"  
"Likewise, your Majesty."  
Lord Ecthelion left, followed by Laura.

***

"I am surprised at what you have achieved, Lord Glorfindel," said the King, once they were alone. "She certainly still feels offended and threatened by my presence, and I do not doubt it is likewise with the other Lords. However, she has changed greatly. I salute you, Lord Glorfindel "  
"It is not only I that should be praised, my Lord," answered the half-Vanya. "If she had not allowed me to approach her, no matter how many efforts I had made, I could never have gained her friendship or trust, or enjoyed the pleasant talks we do during the night."  
"A pleasant talk?" repeated Turgon in disbelief.  
"It may seem strange to you, my Lord. The Atani are not like us, but I assure, my King, this woman is intelligent, and I have often been surprised at her ability to infer and draw conclusions correctly." He thought it was wise not to mention Elenwë in the King's presence.  
"Clearly the relationship between you has changed. I hope it continues this way, and you will be able to induce to behave with kindness."  
"My Lord, I would like to emphasize that I am not the one who tells her what to do or how to behave. Hwa-Young has a strong temper, but she has also suffered a lot. I do not have it in me to force her to trust us. What is required here is patience and kindness. Be willing to endure her strong temper and lack of manners as long as she is changing for the better."  
The High-King studied the young Elf-Lord's face. His words were full of wisdom, but also of kindness and nobility of heart.  
"And who do you think she is, Lord Glorfindel?" He asked.  
"That she is a woman who has suffered greatly, that she is strong-tempered, that she is intelligent and the most grateful person I have known throughout my whole life. That is one of her greatest qualities and one that we should all have to the degree that she possesses. Her speech is pleasant, and I firmly believe that if we know how to treat her, she could also be kind. My Lord, the time I spent with her is worthwhile, not only because it enables me to learn more about Men, but because she herself has great value for who she is. And the day I know her completely, I am sure I will have a welcome wonderment."  
King Turgon smiled.  
"There is no doubt that you have great faith, Lord Glorfindel. May the Válar be on your side."  
"I'm certain I will not be wrong, my Lord," the Elf-lord replied confidently, a bold glint in his eyes.  
The High King of the Noldor nodded.  
"So I hope. Have a blessed night, Lord Glorfindel."  
"May you have a blessed night as well, my King."

***

Once he finished speaking to the King, Glorfindel went out into the hallway, where Laura was waiting. He had requested Lord Ecthelion to wait here, instead of taking her to her cottage directly, for he wished to talk with her.  
"Now you have more freedom," he said, smiling that merry, boyish smile that marked him. "Now you can breathe the fresh air and walk freely around your cottage. I hope that soon the King will allow you to walk through Gondolin."  
Laura did not answer. Her look was low.  
"Hwa-Young," the Elf-lord said softly, seeing her downcast eyes. "What is it?"  
"Nothing" she answered in a strained voice. "Thank you very much."  
Glorfindel looked at her for a moment.  
"Hwa Young-"  
His words remained unspoken. Laura had raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were shining, full of gratitude. He was not sure if it was because of tears of joy, but the light that brightened her cold eyes gladdened his heart. He smiled.  
"Have a blessed night, Hwa-Young."  
"Likewise, Lord Glorfindel."  
The Elf-lord nodded, and turned away, as Ecthelion came to escort Laura to her cottage.

***

Laura had her eyes fixed on the bed. There lay the three objects she had made to escape: her whip, her rope with the grappling hook and the dye.  
She could still escape. Once there was no Moon, the possibility of escape would reopen. But the words that Glorfindel had said to the king echoed over in her head, restraining her.  
Nobody, absolutely nobody had talked about her like that! Not even Remmy! This Elf was willing to put up with anything to help her and, above all, to know her. He had been able to see beyond the cold, insolent and cruel person; now he saw a suffering woman who had great qualities. He had set his hopes on the day he would finally know her completely, and he was certain that she was a person who was much more than anyone could imagine. Those words had meant more for her than anything, than everything. She had been about to cry for joy, knowing that he did not see her with eyes of accusation or prejudice. No, he saw her with eyes of kindness, kindness, and nobility ... maybe future friendship?  
In a quick, decisive movement, Laura pulled out her claws and destroyed everything she had prepared to escape.  
She would never escape, she thought, turning to the window with an intent purpose in her gaze. She would never leave Gondolin. She hated almost every Elf, she hated their superiority complex, she hated being in a place where she was restricted when she loved freedom, but ... Glorfindel had all his hopes placed on her. Laura would not disappoint him, even if it was the last thing she did. No matter what it cost, she would not disappoint him. She would try to be nice even to Lord Duilin, she would not pay attention to the Elves' superiority complex, and she would patiently bear her imprisonment, Yes, all that she would do for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, for Glorfindel, the only one who had given her hope and light after so many years of solitude and darkness.


	17. The Golden and the Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter another plot besides the relationship between Lord Glorfindel and Laura will start. What will it be and who will be involved?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The myth that Laura tells to Princess Idril and Lord Duilin is an aztec one, that's way the names are so strange because they're in náhuatl.

Chapter 17: The Golden and the Black

Four Months Later (Valarya, Day of the Válar. Úrimë {August} Summer, First Age 463)

The slowly brightening sky was lit with the paleness of falling rain, that fell tenderly upon the gardens of Gondolin. Beneath the trees, his ears full of the pattering of rain on the green leaves, King Turgon walked amidst flowers. His crown of garnets and Staff was gone, he was a slender, black-haired Elf, and lines of suffering were read around his granite eyes. He shed the emblems of his title when he could, for they reminded him that he was High-King only through the deaths of his brother and his father.  
Surrounded by lilies and lupine blossoms, he knelt and studied them for a while. Although he and his folk had rebelled against the Válar, they had not entirely forsaken them, as was shown by the rain that came to bless the flowers that grew and bloomed.  
Although Vàsa' rays did not illuminate the Hidden City, a band of pink, fresh and young, like the breath of color, was glowing in the sky, and slowly the rain was ceasing. Traces of her rosy hands were seen in the leaves of the trees, in the petals of the flowers, in the rain.  
A blackbird warbled, his song clear and cool, and then his fellow answered, and soon the air was turbulent with song that welcomed that rising day.  
Then another song rose, far more beautiful. It was a crystalline voice, its incomparable beauty accompanied by a harp.  
Turgon's heart leaped for joy. He rose from the lilies and followed the song. A willow stretched its long branches, tenderly hiding Idril from the rain. She sat on the grass, her nimble fingers gliding over the strings of her harp. She sang a song that spoke of the beauty that Yavanna gave her entire kingdom. Her eyes were closed in raptured reverence, the golden river of her hair was stirred by a dawning breeze.  
Turgon looked at his daughter with love, a creature to him delicate and strong, as she sang the songs Elenwë sang. His wife was no longer with him, but she had given him a treasure, that had made him stay.  
He knew the song well, it was a common air in Tìrion. As she began to sing the last verse, he joined his voice with hers.  
Idril opened her eyes, startled, for she had been so entranced by the music she had not noticed the approach of her father. When they had finished the song together, she sprang to her feet and embraced him.  
"Atar, it has been a long time since you sang with me."  
Turgon smiled.  
"It was your mother's most beloved song."  
Idril's blue eyes searched his, and he knew he must look weary and sad.  
"Yes. I know. That is why I sang it, for the morning was so fair it seemed to honor it, and my heart was rejoiced to see the peace here."  
Turgon nodded, with the faint trace of a smile.  
"That is so, Itarillë." He did not add any false assurances, she would see through them.  
Idril smiled and looked at her harp. He knew that this was a gesture she made when seeking to express a request.  
"What is it?" He asked affectionately.  
Idril's face suddenly assumed an air of confidence.  
"Atar, I would see Hwa Young tonight."  
"No. " he said instantly.  
Idril looked at him, preparing to convince him.  
"Why so, Atar? She has changed, or so the Lords say."  
"We do not know that," Turgon answered, his voice sharper than he intended.  
"Atar," she replied in a tone of sweet rebuke, reading the face he strove to keep impassive with ease. There was an arch challenge in her eyes, but even if the playfulness was stripped away, the challenge would remain. "You afraid that she might hurt me with her words. Her words may be sharp as swords, but I can keep the field against her. I will not let her mistreat me, I assure you. And, remember, the Lords have assured me she treats them kindly. Even Lord Duilin has made no complaint against her. Surely, that shows how great the change has been!" she finished with a laugh.  
Turgon did not argue against the veracity of his daughter's reasoning. The Lord of the Swallow had no sympathy for Hwa Young, and the sentiment was mutually shared by the woman. But he still had his misgivings about the woman.  
"Itarillë," he answered. "It may be true, but I will not allow my daughter to be insulted by a firíma."  
There was an arch to her eyebrows.  
"I am not a songbird, Atar," she said softly, but without bitterness. "To be locked in a cage."  
"And a fledgling must learn to spread her wings," he agreed.  
It was at times like these that his daughter recalled memories of his sister. Írissë was a lover of freedom, willful and proud. It was her willfulness that led her to travel to the sons of Fëanor, and it was her willfulness that led her death at the hands of her husband. She was the Daughter of the Hunt, wild, free-faring and brave.  
Idril loved the song and the dance, a child of the Wind-Dancer, like her mother before her. She could wield a sword and defend herself, but her love was not in the chase but in the beauty of the arts.  
However, one thing they shared, these twain, they were as rapier blades: slender and as hard to break. His Itarillë could fend for herself and was not afraid of the strange daughter of the Sun.  
He saw the same indomitable will in her eyes and knew he would bend before it like he had bent to Írissë.  
"Very well, my daughter. When will you see her?"  
"This evening."  
Turgon nodded slowly.  
"I will notify the Lord who guards the cottage tonight."  
"Thank you, Atar," said Idril. "I will leave you now, for Lord Duilin is coming to speak to you."  
Turgon turned and saw the Swallow approached, with the quick, purposeful stride that defined him, reminiscent of the swift ferocity of the kite. His tawny hair was braided with white feathers: his armor was still on, for he had only finished his guard upon the Gates.  
"Lord Duilin!" smiled Idril.  
"My Lady Silverfoot," answered Duilin, bowing.  
The Celebrindal smiled, took up her harp, and entered the palace, leaving the King and the Lord of the Swallow alone.

***

"Am I interrupting you, my King?" Duilin asked, standing at a respectful distance. Turgon was looking out towards the rising Sun in silence.  
"How fast they grow!" he murmured after a moment, his voice melancholy. "And yet, they are as curious as if they were still children."  
Duilin looked at his King in confusion.  
"Itarillë desires to visit Hwa-Young this night," explained Turgon, turning around to Duilin. "She wishes to know how much she has changed, she wants to meet the woman who is kind."  
"Ah." was all Duilin said. He was not overly fond of the woman.  
There was a moment of silence.  
"Are you going to give me your account?" Asked Turgon. His bearing changed, he was a King again, not a lonely father. Duilin answered promptly, relieved to change the subject.  
"Yes, my Lord."  
"What news has there been?" He asked, walking towards the Palace.  
"There has not been any," Duilin replied. "Nothing has been seen in Tumladen, nor have there been traces of any unlawful creature."  
"What of the Eagles?"  
"They have not seen anything either, neither in the valley nor in the Echoriath."  
"They continue with redoubled vigilance?"  
"Yes, my Lord. Likewise, we also continue with the intensified surveillance. My archers have examined every grass blade in the Valley and have seen nothing."  
King Turgon nodded slowly as they came to the Council Chamber. The walls of the room were of marble veined with blue, and there were tall slender pillars of alabaster that came together at the summit to form pointed arches.  
"Then we are still safe."  
"So it seems, my Lord."  
The High King of the Noldor stopped in the middle of the council room, his gray eyes fixed on the marble table where the Lords of the Eleven Houses sat with him to make judgment.  
"What House watches over Hwa Young's cottage this day?" He asked.  
"In the morning or in the evening?"  
"The evening."  
"The House of the Tree, my Lord."  
"I want you and your House to watch Hwa Young's cottage tonight."  
Duilin said curiously,  
"Of course. But may I venture a question and ask why? The Princess is safe with Lord Galdor, he is a fine warrior."  
"I know he is," answered Turgon. "But you still have a certain distrust of the woman. This will allow you to be more alert. I do not want anything to happen to my Itarillë."  
Duilin bowed, reluctant, but willing to obey.  
"As you wish, my Lord. I will notify Lord Galdor of your orders."  
"Have a blessed day, Lord Duilin."  
"May it be the same for you, my King."

***

Duilin jogged down the Alley of Roses, his feet beating a quick staccato on the stone. He needed to choose ten guards from his House and then inform Galdor that he would relieve him this night. His rest for the day promised to be very short, guarding the Gates one night, ordering his House's affairs during the day, and then guarding Hwa Young the next night. What a cursed nuisance the woman was!  
Even more, he did not relish the idea of spending more time with her in the slightest. Perhaps the relationship between him and Hwa-Young had improved, but he did not trust her. She was still insolent, and not overly burdened with manners, even if she was making an effort to be friendly.  
But the King's orders were clear, if illogical to him, and even if he was not enthusiastic about fulfilling them, the thought of disobedience did not cross his mind: considering that the safety of the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin was at stake.  
So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not discern a person in his path, leaning down to pick a half-blown bud from the border, until he had stumbled heavily, and heard a sharp squeal of surprise. Recovering his balance, he saw he had collided with a young Elf-maid. He found to his chagrin, he was blushing, as he helped her to her feet.  
"A thousand pardons!" he faltered. "The blame is mine: I was so wrapped in my own thoughts that I did not see you."  
She took the hand he extended and jumped to her feet. She was tall and slim. Her skin was fair, and her face shaped like a perfect oval. Two braids of jet-black hair that were now disarranged fell down her back. But the most striking of all her tender beauty were her eyes. Like all of the Noldor, they were gray, but they were so expressive that they shone like the stars.  
She laughed easily.  
"No need to apologize. All of us..." Her words were strangled in her throat as she recognized him. "Lord Duilin! "She gasped, seeing on his cloak the white-tipped head of an arrow in the background of a dark blue, the symbol of the House of Swallow. "Oh, my Lord! Forgive me! "She exclaimed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. " I should have watched myself, and not stopped in the middle of a busy street."  
"There is nothing to forgive," he said. "I was the one who was foolish enough not to watch my surroundings." He paused. "I have to take my leave: my duties call me. May you have a blessed day. "  
The maiden, who was likely as young as Glorfindel nodded briefly. Duilin bowed his head slightly in greeting and continued hurriedly.  
'How beautiful are her eyes!' said a voice inside his mind. He shook his head as if to rid himself of it, he had too many things to do to be thinking about trivialities.  
The maiden watched him go. She had hit her head against his armor, she could feel it swelling. But worse than that was her humiliation. She could not believe that she had had such terrible luck and caused the brave Lord of the Swallow to stumble! How she wished she had never come here, or that the earth would have swallowed her up! Her shame was so great!  
Something fluttered white, snagged on a rose bush. She turned her gaze down and took it from the thorns. It was a delicate white feather. She blushed again. Because of her, Lord Duilin had lost one of his adornments.  
Without delay, she ran in the direction he had taken, but when she turned the corner from the Alley of Roses to the Road of the North Gate, she could not see him, even though the Elf-lord's bearing was not one that could go unnoticed.  
She looked at the delicate feather in her hands and sighed. She hoped he did not realize that he had lost a feather before she could give it back to him. After all, it was known to all that although Lord Duilin was a gallant, brave, and loyal Lord, the fastest runner and the best archer in all Gondolin, he had a somewhat… quick temper.

***

That night, beneath the light of the full moon, and the stars that shone serenely in the celestial vault, two people walked.  
One was tall and graceful, a creature that caused the stars to envy. Her dress was white as snow and girdled with silver, her face so fair and her golden hair so bright they seemed to say to the sun in the daytime and the moon at night: 'you need not shine since I am shining.' She walked unshod, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground.  
By her side walked someone far different. She was shorter, and her bearing was not elegant, but purposeful and enigmatic. She wore black: her eyes were green and could be beautiful, but they did not shine like her companion, nor were they expressive, but instead cold and hard as emerald stone. Her face was masterful but ill-favored, her black hair long and soft. She wore boots, and her steps were audible in the silent street.  
Those two were the Princess Idril Celebrindal, the Flower, and Pearl of Gondolin, one of the most beautiful Elf-ladies in Endor, so much so that Elves would bicker over the beauty of Idril Silverfoot and Lúthien the Nightingale; and Hwa Young, a daughter of Men, homely even among her own race.  
The Princess had gone that night, accompanied by Lord Duilin and ten warriors of his House, to visit her. She had met Laura at the door of her cottage.  
Upon seeing her, Laura had felt a strong sting twist her gut. She did not like the Celebrindal, because she was the embodiment of what she would never be. The Celebrindal was beautiful, ethereal, beloved by all, friendly and nice. While she was not beautiful. Nobody in their right mind would consider her beautiful; no one admired her and even less loved her. If they did admire her, it was for the skills she had, and even that was mixed with fear and contempt for what she was capable of and what she had; her temper was neither friendly nor pleasant, but arrogant and insolent. To see Idril was a blow in the stomach, and when she saw her, it took all her self-restraint not to slam the door in her face. She had nearly shown her dislike when the Celebrindal invited her to walk.  
But she had not. She had made a decision, a decision for life, and just because she did not like Idril didn't mean she would disappoint Lord Glorfindel. Moreover, she was honest enough with herself realize and accept that Idril was not at fault. It was Laura's fault, unfortunately, this could not be changed, even if she apologized to the end of her days. She would never be accepted, unlike that divine creature.  
However, even though she had decided to be nice to everyone, in order to make up for what Glorfindel had done for her, it was not easy for her and even though she tried, she could not start a conversation with the Princess.

***

They had walked for three hours, down the Road of Running Waters, where the fountains fell in a starlit spray of mists and shadows. Idril's light voice went merrily. She had asked several questions about Laura, but Laura had replied curtly, so Idril had changed tactics and instead spoke of herself and her enjoyments: of the birds, the song, the harp, the rain, the dance. Laura had listened carefully but had not been able to continue the conversation. She had made an effort, but the feeling of inferiority had prevented the conversation from continuing.  
From a respectful distance, but close enough so that he could defend the Princess, Lord Duilin was walking, his hand upon the hilt of his sword and his eagle eyes never lost sight of either female.  
The Celebrindal had was despairing of continuing the conversation: it was clear Hwa Young did not enjoy her company, so she would not force it on her any longer. However, she decided to make one more effort. She paused and turned her gaze to the sky.  
"Which one do you love better, Hwa Young? The Moon or the stars?"  
Laura blinked, surprised. She was not used to talking about herself. In the Facility what she thought or felt was something of no value and among the X-Men nobody cared in the least: she was the Ugly Duckling, segregated by appearances and past history. Also, by remaining close-lipped, no one knew about her, and she was safe from any future attack, emotional or physical. So, talking about herself was a challenge. She, the most feared assassin in the world; she, who could perform amazing feats; she, who could bear the most unimaginable tortures; she, who knew how to speak at ten languages; she, who understood technology; she, whose expertise covered several areas of human, could not even speak about herself for a moment, she thought, gritting her teeth in frustration.  
"Um ... the Moon, I guess." she replied after a few moments, unsure of her words.  
Idril said with a smile,  
"Why?"  
"Uh ... I do not know ... I guess, because of its brightness, or because of the stories about the Moon, or because I prefer the night ... I do not know." Laura answered, increasingly uncomfortable  
The Princess nodded encouragingly.  
"What stories?"  
"Ah ... there are many," answered Laura evading Idril's gaze to hide her discomfort. But it didn't matter, she knew, the Princess would have noticed, after all, Idril was a very insightful Quendë.  
"Could you tell me one?" Idril asked. Part of her enthusiasm was that she held a girlish love of stories, and another half was that she wished to make the woman talk.  
Laura apprehended the purpose of the Princess. She did not like the idea in the least, it had been a long time since she had told a story; but she saw from the corner of her eye, Lord Duilin, who was staring at her, waiting for her reaction. She remembered Lord Glorfindel and what he had told the king. She drew a deep breath and began to narrate one of the many stories she knew.

***

"Um ... a long time ago, at the time when the gods used to walk in the world, the goddess Coatlicue sweeping. As she swept, she saw a large feather on the ground, as white as snow." Laura began nervously. "The feather seemed so beautiful to the goddess that she decided to keep it, so she tucked it in her belt. When she finished sweeping the temple, she realized that she was pregnant. Coatlicue was astonished. She couldn't understand how she could have gotten pregnant because she had not had intercourse with any god. Besides, she was extremely ashamed because she had always insisted that purity was the most important thing, it was something she had ordered her daughter, the Moon goddess, Coyolxauhqui to observe, and here it is that now she was pregnant, and she did not know who the father was."  
"She did not know who the father was!" exclaimed Idril, scandalized. Lord Duilin came nearer, but he remained silent.  
"Well, it may be a lie, that's how it was," Laura answered, smiling when she saw the Princess' face. That was really amusing, to see the reaction of these Elven puritans.  
"And what happened next?" inquired Idril eagerly.  
"Oh, well ... when her daughter, the Moon goddess, Coyolxauhqui, found out that her mother was pregnant and did not know who the baby's father was, she became enraged. How was it possible that her mother had committed such a degenerate act?! She, Coyolxauhqui, had always kept her purity, and now her mother had turned out to be a ... woman who had no qualms whatsoever." she substituted that euphemism with what the story actually said: 'a harlot.' Who knew what the Princess's reaction would be? "The goddess Coyolxauhqui summoned all the gods to accuse her mother Coatlicue and to judge what was to be done. The sentence was death. Coatlicue would be stoned."  
Duilin came nearer, interested. The punishment was brutal. It was at this time, in all the old stories, that the helpless afflicted was rescued, and he savored that part: the battle, the escape.  
"When the goddess Coatlicue knew the verdict, she fled, because she would not allow them to kill her baby. Knowing this, Coyolxauhqui and all her servants: the Tzentzonahua, persecuted her. Coatlicue hid in different places, but finally she had nowhere else to go. The goddess was distressed, but it was at that moment she was despairing when she clearly heard the voice of her unborn baby telling her,  
'Do not worry, mother. I will save you.'  
"The goddess really did not know what to say or what to do other than to trust what her unborn baby had told her.  
"Right at that moment, she was discovered by Coyolxauhqui and her servants, the Tzentzonahua. The Moon goddess had dressed in her silver armor. Large quetzal feathers adorned her helmet; green jade covered her chest and back; her mantle was the skin of a brilliant serpent of a thousand colors was intertwined; her ankles sounded with silvery rattles, as did her wrists; her sword was turquoise and jade; her shield was silver strengthened with volcanic stones and adorned with the symbol of the feathered serpent. In her black eyes shone the fury and the terrible light that illuminates the eyes of a true and experienced warrior.  
"The Tzentzonahua wore brightly colored feathers and their bows and arrows were made of precious woods. White eagle feathers fletched them, and the tips of their arrows were of sharp turquoise. They shone ready to kill the helpless goddess Coatlicue." Laura paused dramatically, knowing she held her audience enraptured. By now, her face was lit with excitement, her green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and her lively gestures and changing tones of voice illustrated the story and gave life to it.  
Seeing that for a moment Laura did not speak, Idril asked,  
"And then? They attacked the goddess…"  
"Coatlicue." Laura finished, smiling. "Yes, but they could not hurt her because at that moment Huitzilopóchtli was born, the Sun god. He was the warrior god of excellence, the warrior who was never defeated! His appearance was terrifying and at the same time amazing! Everything was illuminated by a great glow. His armor was of gold, his helm adorned with the feathers of the eagle; his coat was the skin of the jaguar; his shield was obsidian, the same as his sword; his ankles and arms sounded with the rattle of golden bracelets. In his eyes shone a light so terrible that Coyolxauhqui herself trembled.  
"The Tzentzonahua attacked Huitzilopochtli, but the Sun-god of war easily overcame them and dismembered their huge army in such a way that he scattered them throughout the firmament in such a way that they could never be together!" Laura pointed towards the sky.  
"The stars" Idril said in understanding.  
Laura nodded enthusiastically and continued her story.  
"Now the two siblings would have to fight: Coyolxauhqui and Huitzilopóchtli. Anyone else would have decided to give up when seeing the power of the Sun God, but the Moon goddess was not someone who could easily be defeated. No, the goddess Coyolxauhqui was an innate warrior, the most terrible among all the goddesses and she did not shy away from battle so easily. So, with an awful war cry, both gods attacked. The battle was terrible!" Cried Laura. "The mountains trembled, the rivers dried up, the earth cracked, the birds flew scared and the dogs howled! All Nature trembled in terror at the great duel between the Sun god and the Moon goddess!  
"Finally, Huitzilopóchtli defeated Coyolxauhqui. The goddess deserved death because she was a warrior defeated in battle; but Huitzilopóchtli acknowledged that his sister had fought with honor, so he decided to spare her life. However, this didn't save Coyolxauhqui from her punishment."  
"What was her punishment?" Asked the Celebrindal breathlessly.  
"Her punishment? Her punishment was that, instead of shining every night in all her splendor, reigning all the night, now she would only shine like that for only a few days. Then she would have to shrink until she was hidden completely, in memory of her defeat. Since then, every time the Moon is not seen it is because the goddess Coyolxauhqui mourn for her former glory."  
Laura turned her gaze to the Moon, and then looked at the princess. Idril was looking at her with amazement, and the Lord of the Swallow, beside the Princess, showed the same emotion as the Celebrindal.  
Laura smiled again, true joy drawn on her thin lips. She had not told a story for so long! It felt so good! She had forgotten how much she liked to tell stories and how they moved her until she seemed to be in them, part of them.  
"That is a strange story," said Idril. "I have never heard anything like it! Have you, Lord Duilin? "  
Duilin flushed for the second time that day, to see he was standing beside the Princess. He cleared his throat.  
"No, I have never, but is indeed a strange story."  
Laura's smile faded until it disappeared.  
"Yes, I suppose so," she murmured.  
"Please, do not think that we did not enjoy your story!" Exclaimed Idril. At last, she had managed to make this strange woman show joy and life, and now the light that had illuminated her had disappeared again. "You are a wonderful story teller, in truth, you could be a bard!"  
"Thanks," Laura murmured, but she only did it more out of courtesy than because she really believed the Princess' words.  
Idril chose to leave then, knowing any further talk would be futile, but Laura spoke first. "Um ... Princess, I think you've already wasted too much time in my company and I need to rest. You see, the children of Men need to sleep every night." she added crossly.  
"It's true, I had forgotten," answered Idril sweetly. "Let us go back, then."

***

Laura's POV

I feel like a fool. In fact, I AM a fool, an idiot, an imbecile! I'm getting soft! I've never been like this, never! And here I have shown myself up as an idiot in front of Idril and Duilin! Yes, right in front of Duilin, this had to happen! Damn you, Laura! Why! Apparently, I need to retrain as before, or I'll end like one of these Elves: all tenderness and openness. I'll never allow that.  
First of all, because I've never been like that. I always hide who I really am, always hide what I feel and what I think. It's the barrier that has prevented me from being hurt. It is enough to know what people think of me. Second, I will never be accepted. If in my world I was never accepted in society: my only value was that I was the perfect assassin; there's no way I'll be accepted among the Elves. My tastes, ideas and way of thinking must be terrible for them. The truth is not surprising, everyone sees me the same way in either realm, only these Elves have a superiority complex added to that that makes them extra detestable.  
I do not want to imagine what would happen if they knew who I really am, what I really can do and all my history. They would flee in horror, even Lord Glorfindel.  
Damnit, NO! Laura, pay attention. Never show your emotions again. Walk carefully, because the first time you neglect to do so, everything you say, do and think, will be used against you. It always has been and always will be, after all ... what else can a woman like you can expect?

***

Laura returned her features to an indifferent mask, obliterating any traces of joy and excitement from her eyes.  
"May you have a blessed night, Hwa Young," the princess said softly at the door of her cottage.  
"Likewise, Princess" she replied with cold courtesy.  
Idril smiled slightly and left, followed by Lord Duilin who had muttered a similar farewell.

***

"Did you see how she transformed, Lord Duilin?" said Idril thoughtfully as they neared the palace.  
Duilin nodded slowly.  
"Yes, I did, Princess."  
"Lord Glorfindel was right." she continued "Hwa Young is much more than meets the eye."  
"Most likely, Princess."  
Idril turned and stared at him. He read disapproval in her blue eyes.  
"I do not know why you think differently, Lord Duilin. You were there and showed enough interest to approach. Surely that is proof enough."  
Duilin sighed and answered,  
"You speak the truth, Princess. Hwa Young is not who we thought she was."  
The Celebrindal looked at him for a moment. She did not seem satisfied, but all she said was,  
"Many thanks, Lord Duilin, for accompanying me. Have a blessed night."  
"Have a blessed night, Princess," he answered, bowing his head.

***

When the Princess had disappeared, Duilin sprinted back to the cottage. He favored running over walking, it was too slow and tedious. The rushing wind seemed to race with him and clear his thoughts.  
He had always had animosity towards Hwa Young, but he had been startled by the change. The story was certainly strange: it was untrue, that was not how the moon came to be, but it was the fault of men that they did not know the truth. What left him more astonished was the expression on the woman's face and in her eyes.  
Maybe...maybe Lord Glorfindel was right. Perhaps he had hurried to judge her, and Hwa Young was much more than all the Elf-lords, the King and the Princess had believed at first.


	18. Night thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems that Laura's reaction wasn't the most favorable. Also, the plot that has started to develop with Lord Duilin and this elleth is continuing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Laura translates to Lord Glorfindel is 'On Horseback'. Is a track from the album 'Ommadawn' of the English music composer, Mike Oldfield.

Chapter 18: Night Thoughts

The Following Night:

Laura was studying the waning Moon: reminded that Coyolxauhqui's glory had once crowned every night. She was surrounded by her faithful soldiers, the Tzentzonahua: her retinue that adorned the sky so she might come with pomp and ceremony to her domain.  
To her mind came the story she told the Celebrindal and Lord Duilin the night before. How much power must the Sun god Huitzilopochtli have had to have destroyed the army of the Moon Goddess with a single blow of his terrible mace, scattering them throughout the firmament so that they could never again band together against him? Yes, there were constellations in which stars were grouped together, but there were not many myths about constellations among the Aztecs. That was more common among the Mayans who had been lovers of the stars ... just as the Elves were.  
Laura did not understand the attraction the stars exerted on the Elves. The Moon was much more beautiful to her. When she looked on its serene, pale face, she was reminded of the howls of the wolves she had heard on her mission. Enticed out into the forest by their cries, she had make friends with the pack. She would have liked to have stayed longer with them, but if she had, the Facility agents would have killed them. They had already done it with other innocent animals, whose only crime was befriending her. They had been her only friends besides Remmy.  
The Facility always, invariably, snatched them in the cruelest way, to prevent her from making bonds with others. It was their way of making her cold, indifferent to what she felt and thought, being able to hurt herself: they had given her the bittersweet gift of loneliness. Yes, bittersweet, because over time she had become so accustomed to it that she preferred being alone over being in the company of others. And it was not difficult to achieve such a thing, her temper was very helpful in driving others away. And yet, it was still a thorn was always buried in her hear. She wanted to be always to be accepted by society, to be part of it ... what a philosophy book and a Shakespearean play could do!  
Although Laura longed to be accepted and for society to forget her bitter and bloody past, such a thing could not be; there were times when she preferred to be alone, occupied in something that required extreme concentration. Previously, when she was at the Facility, they trained her by demanding more and more of her, or they tortured her, in order to teach how to bear pain. Among the X-Men, she used to train hours, and later, she had learned reading was an excellent way to occupy her analytical mind as well as continuing to learn.  
But here? She had nothing to do. She did not know how to read Tengwar, she did not have any place to train and she could not do it since her alibi was that of a normal woman. She had nothing, nothing except an Elf-Lord on which she could whet her calculating mind. He spent three nights a week talking with her in the garden, occasionally bickering and, of course, singing and playing on his harp. No doubt he was trying his best to help her: that was proven by his willingness to handle her temper and her lack of manners. She enjoyed bickering with him, and appreciated his company, but right now, she only wanted to be alone.

***

"Hwa Young."  
Laura turned slowly to Glorfindel, who was watching her with impatience and discontent in his blue eyes.  
"Hwa Young, what is it? Since I commenced describing the Valley of Tumladen you have been watching the Moon and the stars," he explained.  
"So? Your point is? "She demanded sourly.  
"You have not paid attention to me, which is not pleasant."  
Laura tilted her head to the left and crossed her arms, raising her right eyebrow derisively.  
"I have not paid attention to you, have I?" She repeated slowly, as if to a small child. "Let's see, your last words were these: 'the grass billows as a sea under the wind, rising and falling like waves. And in the middle of this flowering sea rises in incomparable beauty the Lily of the Vale, the City of Gondolin." she paused, and then added, between mockery and annoyance. "Happy, Lord Glorfindel?"  
Glorfindel listened to her, unimpressed. He had had this trick repeated on him too often: Turgon would often recite his words back to him like a child who had learned his lesson by heart, while his mind was elsewhere. Princess Idril too had learned this from her father and would use it when she was preoccupied. He had always found it exceedingly unpleasant. Like them, Hwa Yong had repeated his words as he said them, with identical intonations, but her objective was far different from his.  
"No. You heard me, Hwa Yong, but you did not listen to me."  
She shrugged.  
"So?"  
Glorfindel knew that one of the things she was relished was bickering with him. Although it allowed her to know him, and he her, it was not the way he preferred. Although she lacked the finesse of Elven wit, she was clever and cunning, and her tongue was sharp.  
Instead of succumbing to her ruse, he decided to understand what was behind her unpleasant demeanor. He had never ever seen her watching the night sky for so long with so thoughtful a face. Something was troubling her. Perhaps her deceased family, but something was wrong, and she was disguising it by provoking him.  
"Hwa Young, what is it?" He asked, locking his gaze with hers.  
"Again, the same question," she said, rolling her eyes. "Why can't I look somewhere else other than your pretty face, when I *listen* to you, Lord Glorfindel? Or do you want me to be continuously admiring your blue eyes and blonde hair while pretending to listen to your description of Tumladen? Because if so, you are extremely presumptuous and vain. I may add that your features are not that unique: the Princess has eyes of the same color and blond hair. And believe me, I saw both of them last night for a long time."  
Glorfindel's jaw tightened and his eyes sparked with anger, but he said calmly,  
"So I heard." The Princess had sent for him to say that undoubtedly, he was right: Hwa Young was far more than what meets the eye. She had told him in broad strokes the story that told her of the Moon goddess Coyolxauhqui and the Sun god Huitzilopochtli, but she had placed the most importance on the change that had taken place in the woman when she told the story. Idril said she had been amazed at the joy and enthusiasm she had shown. Lord Duilin reluctantly supported the Princess's story, although adding that she had become as cold and hard after the Princess had remarked the tale she told was somewhat strange.  
Glorfindel had begun to fit the pieces together, and he realized she had been thinking about what had happened the night before. It was essential to investigate what was troubling her again. If she kept entrapping her emotions, she would suffer more.  
He had found long ago that what this strange daughter of Men wanted desperately was to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, to remove all the pain that was in there, and this was hurting her more every time. But it was as if she did not understand this: she attacked and vituperated anyone who seemed to close to her. It was her way of protecting herself: a barrier to keep anyone from hurting her. That barrier, keeping all the pain and suffering, as well as her emotions, was no longer just to protect herself. It had become rooted in her life and had presumably almost completely destroyed all joy and kindness. He hoped that once he opened the wall, they would blossom little by little in answer to the light.  
He would risk a great deal in trying to pry her open, like a clamshell on the shores of Nevrast, but he was willing to do it. He continued quietly.  
" The Princess told me she had spent some hours with you last night. "  
"Ah!" said Laura, looking back towards the sky.  
Glorfindel continued. What he would say would displease her, but there was no other way of making her speak, so he could help her.  
"Princess Idril also told me that you had told her and Lord Duilin a very interesting story about the Sun god and the Moon goddess. She said he had never heard such an interesting tale-"  
"Strange." Laura interrupted. "That was the word she used?"  
"Yes, it was," answered Glorfindel, his blue eyes fixed on her, searching in her mute language for the slightest sign.  
Laura chuckled scornfully. "How interesting,"  
"Interesting?" He inquired.  
Laura finally took her gaze from the sky. Her face displayed a cold mockery, but her arms and legs were crossed tightly.  
'She is in an attitude of rejection,' thought Glorfindel. 'To protect herself.'  
"She told me that the story was 'strange', while she told you it was 'interesting'," she said. "That is somewhat interesting, isn't it, Lord Glorfindel? The dear Princess Idril is either a liar or does not know how to talk to people."  
Glorfindel crushed down the impulse to rise in indignation and censure the woman. Idril, the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin, the beautiful and tender creature ... liar?! No one had even dreamed of intimating such a thing. It was far better for Hwa Young that Turgon would never know of the slight, for the King was ruthless to anyone who dared to do the slightest damage to his daughter.  
"I think your words are both harsh and false," he said, his voice cold and hard, but he did not leave, for she needed to continue speaking. "Think carefully, before you slander the Princess of Gondolin and the Noldor. She has always been kind to you, there is no reason for you to speak about her like that."  
"Oh! Kind?" sneered Laura. "As far as I know-though of course, I am a simple firíma with a severe lack of manners and maybe I misunderstood-she tells one of us the story is strange, but she tells her own race, when she wishes to look good and kind, that the story was interesting. I believe she is a false person, who does whatever suits her for the moment."  
Glorfindel leaped to his feet, inclined to leave until she knew how to speak of the Silverfoot.  
"Go away. Nobody is stopping you," she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.  
He was sorely tempted to follow her advice, but he remembered he had set himself upon the purpose of helping and knowing her. If he did not want to retrace the path he had traveled with so much labor, he would have to endure it.  
He sat down, holding her gaze all the while.  
"Hwa Young," he said quietly. "Do not think that I will abide your lack of manners all the time. I stay here and do not answer you as you deserve-like one would answer a petulant, cruel and querulous child-because I wish to know you, and I am certain that the day I do, it will be a pleasant wonder. That is what I told the King. But my patience is not eternal and, although my wish is to help you, I will not allow you to disrespect my Princess, nor will I allow you to insult me at your whim. Everything has its bounds and I am willing to leave forever if you continue to subject Princess Idril to your contumely."  
She stared at him silently, her features impassive. She was hiding again: thinking about what she said, but she did not want him to know, she did not want him to find a chink in her armor.  
Then she got up and said,  
"Fine. If you do not want to leave, I'll leave."  
She went down the pathway, opened the door to her cottage, and was about to enter when she turned and said,  
"See you never, Lord Glorfindel."  
He was shocked. Why was she willing to do such harm to herself? Just as on the occasion when she had broken his harp, it had hurt her terribly; and yet, once again, she was willing to suffer the consequences. He knew she was not lying or trying to coerce him and challenge him to know if he really was willing to do what he had threatened. No, she was willing to leave without looking back.  
He measured his chances quickly. Once she entered her cottage, she would never talk to him again, and would probably not even leave her cottage, except to go on the roof or in the gardens. She would mistreat all those who were forced to be with her again. Perhaps threatening her had not been the best of ideas. Not only had she felt threatened but offended and even betrayed.  
This moment was crucial and for a reason that he himself did not understand, but would rejoice over in the future, stood up and exclaimed, frustrated and desperate,  
"What is it, Hwa Young!"  
"You already know the answer, Lord Glorfindel. Why do you ask the same stupid question?" She asked coldly." Did I not explain myself correctly? Or are you deaf?"  
Lead by the knowledge that the tenuous friendship they had managed was at stake, he cried,  
"That's not true, Hwa Young, you lie!"  
Laura swung round, leaving the door ajar, and stalked towards him, her hands clenched into fists. She looked like a wounded beast that, uncaring over its wound, is ready to attack.  
"You call me a liar, huh?" She snarled when she was a step away from him. "Liar?"  
Glorfindel looked at her. He would not let her go, not as readily as that. Years later he would thank the Válar with all his fëa, that he had not surrendered, otherwise, he would never have found the greatest happiness an Elf could find: love.  
"No," he answered quietly. "You are not a liar, you just hide what hurts you." He paused "Tell me, Hwa Young, what is hurting you?" His expressive eyes showed clear concern. "I know you do not trust me, you once told me: I do not enjoy your confidence in the least. And I know that you do not trust anyone. You consider that we have not done anything to earn it and maybe that is the way it is. But if you never give us the chance to win it, you will never have anyone to trust. Give me this opportunity and trust me, only once. Allow me to help you, maybe I cannot do anything but listen to you, but if I can help you with that ... I will do it gladly."  
Laura stared at him blankly.  
"Please," the Elf-lord finished, hoping with all his heart that those words would touch her.  
She relaxed, and her fists opened. She turned and started walking slowly towards the cottage, her eyes fixed on the ground.  
"You cannot help me, Lord Glorfindel." she answered in a dull voice. "Nobody can."  
"Maybe," he replied, cutting in front of her path. "But at least tell me what is hurting you, let me hear you. This way neither of us can say that I never tried to help you that way."  
Laura remained silent for a moment.  
"It's nothing," she muttered. "It's not worth it."  
Glorfindel studied her in the moonlight. She had shaken her hair over her face as if frightened that even her blank features could not hide what she felt.  
"Hwa Young, look at me."  
But Laura continued to stare at the ground. Glorfindel frowned; he knew that attitude would last only few scant seconds more before she would step aside and go back to the cottage to never leave again. His nimble mind tried to put pieces together: rejecting all of them, until one.  
"It is the story."  
Laura was arrested in her movement.  
"The story of the Sun god and the Moon goddess is not it?" he asked. When he saw that there was no answer, he hurried to continue before the woman resumed her way.  
"Hwa Young, when the Princess told you it was very strange, it was because she had never heard anything like it, not because they did not enjoy it," he said rebukingly. "She told me that was interesting and what she told me of the story, so it seemed to me as well. She described how you narrated it. She only said it was strange because she did not know how else to respond at the moment. You even caught the attention of Lord Duilin: do not think otherwise."  
Laura laughed bitterly.  
"Nobody likes what I like," she said, speaking to the flagstones. "My past has dyed even my tastes dark."  
"I think you are wrong in both. The Princess and Lord Duilin were fascinated by your story and both enjoyed the manner in which you told it. Perhaps the word she used to describe it was not the most fitting, but her face indicated joy when she told it to me. What was more, she told me that I was right: you are more than what you seem to be. There is. There is a kind, good-hearted and grateful woman." He paused. "You can say that no one enjoys what you do, but that would be a lie. I like the song that is so precious to you, and that was how I contrived to see that there is more to you than you have shown us."  
Laura lifted her face abruptly and fixed her green eyes, shining with illimitable gratitude, on his.  
"I thought you had just learned it, so you could have something to do at night."  
Glorfindel laughed.  
"I admit that at the beginning that was the reason. But I was also looking for a way to make you smile, even for a moment. Later, when you started teaching me the notes and even more when you taught me the refrain, I fancied it so that I learned the refrain without knowing what it means. I learned it because I enjoy it and because I can sing with you "  
Laura smiled slightly, a smile full of joy and gratitude. What her words did not say, her eyes and smile said a thousand times stronger. When she smiled, Glorfindel thought she was almost... comely.  
He matched her smile. He had finally persuaded her to open for a few moments. He had managed to keep her from leaving that bench forever.

***

"Perhaps we could rehearse the song," he suggested after a few minutes.  
Laura nodded, and they went back to the bench. Glorfindel took up his harp from where had left it, and began to play while she sang, accompanying her at the refrain.  
When they finished there was a moment of silence, which Glorfindel broke.  
"May I ask a question, Hwa Young?"  
Laura nodded.  
"What does the song say and what is it titled?"  
Laura was silently thoughtful for a moment. Then she sighed and said,  
"The song is called 'On horseback'. The lyrics of the song goes:  
'I like beer and I like cheese,  
I like the smell of a western breeze,  
But what I like more than of all these,  
Is to be on horseback'  
"And the refrain goes,  
'Hey! And here we go,  
Through the grass, across the snow,  
Big brown beastie,   
Big brown face,  
I'd rather be with you than flying through space.'  
"The next stanza goes,  
'I like thunder and I like rain,  
And open fire and roaring flames,  
But if the thunder is in my brain,  
I like to be on horseback.'  
Some like the cities, some the noise,  
Some make chaos and other toys,  
But if I was to have the choice,  
I'd rather be on horseback'  
"And once the refrain is sung. The lyric of the next stanza is,  
'Some find strange to be here,  
On this small planet and who knows where,  
But when is strange and full of fear,  
Is nice to be on horseback.  
Some are short and others tall,  
Some hit their heads against the wall,  
But it doesn't really matter at all,  
When you happen to be on horseback'  
"And again, is sung the refrain. The lyric of the last stanza goes,  
'So, if you feel a little gloom,  
To Hergest Ridge you should come,  
In summer, winter,  
Rain or Sun,  
It's good to be on horseback'  
And the refrain is sung twice at the end.'"

***

When Laura finished telling him the lyrics in Quenya, she watched him, waiting for his reaction.  
Glorfindel frowned. The lyrics of the song did not make sense to him. He wondered for a moment if that was how all the songs were in North Korea. If so, he pitied them: they were unskilled in composing music.  
"I do not understand," he finally said. "That is, I do not know the meaning of the words. What does it mean?"  
Laura's face was darkened by a cloud of sadness and loneliness. She shook her head, her tears glimmering in her pale, black-fringed eyes.  
"Even if I explained it to you, you would never understand it," she said in a subdued voice. She rose then, and went to her cottage, closing the door behind her.  
Glorfindel watched her leave: struck by the tears in her eyes. But he knew that though she was iron, iron that was untempered was brittle: hard and cold, and in the end, breakable.  
He stood up, his harp in his hands, and left towards the palace.  
What had happened? She was hiding a mystery, that for her sake, had to be solved.

***

Upon the west wall of Gondolin, Lord Duilin sat, lost in his thoughts. The Moon was shining pale and bright, the night wind was whispering to him.  
He relished the feel of the cool wind blowing softly on his face, a soft and lilting song.  
The silence of the night was pulsing with the chirp of crickets, and the sweet twitter of nightingales. Occasional songs came, soft and sweet with the throbbing tones of the harp, raised as praise to the beauty of the Moon and the stars.  
He heard a familiar tune, of how their forebears first saw the stars  
"'Elé! Elé! They cried. Behold!  
And upward gazed into the night  
And saw jewels a hundredfold  
Glimmering in the soft twilight",  
And remembered the strange story Hwa Young had told.  
Indeed, her people were ignorant. He had not dealt much with the Men but had heard tidings from Lord Finrod's host while in Nevrast that the Atani worshipped the Válar.  
But the people of North Korea had not been so enlightened. Perhaps Men believed blindly, but to think that the Moon and the stars had come that way was laughable.  
Hùrin and Hùor, the Lords of Dòr-Lomin had not been like this woman, nor believed in strange gods. Duilin had respected these brothers, strong, stalwart, clever.  
Hùrin the Steadfast he had especially held in esteem. This man had great endurance of will, and of all Men of the North, he knew most of the counsels of the Noldor.  
Turgon also had grown to love both them, but the brothers had at last returned to their kin. And not three years since they departed, this woman had come. Nothing about her inspired trust in Duilin's heart: neither her insolence nor her querulousness nor her sharp tongue. But the previous night had been different, perhaps enough to persuade him that Glorfindel had not lost his mind entirely. Perhaps, he had misjudged the firíma.  
He shrugged, not overly unconcerned. Perhaps this development would make her stay here a little more bearable.  
A soft pitter-patter, like the heartbeat of a sparrow, made him leap to his feet, drawing the small falchion he always kept in his belt.  
It was neither an enemy nor a guard that had come upon him. It was an Elven-maid, tall and slender. Soft black hair fell in a torrent down her back, surrounding a face of tender beauty. But he recognized her eyes: bright eyes of dove feathers: a hue softly grey, like birds flying on sunlit days.  
When she saw him draw the falchion, she jumped back with a short scream of surprise, raising her hands in surrender.


	19. Two forms of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are... with Maeglin dogging his cousing, as always of course. But what about Lord Duilin and Elyéta? And who is the silent witness that withdraw without anyone know about its presence? That's what we'll be known in the next chaptert...

Chapter 19: Two Forms of Love

(Elenya, Day of the Stars. Úrimë {August}, Summer, First Age 463)  
Elyéta's POV

'I cannot stop thinking of the awful collision I had with Lord Duilin, and every time I remember it, I feel even more distressed. What was I thinking? Why would I even consider plucking flowers in the thick of a bustling street?   
How I wish I had never stopped. What is more, I preferred I had never gone there and had taken a different direction. But no! I had must needs take the path to the Lesser Market to pick a flower. Fortunately, my brother has heard nothing. I do not want to imagine the reproach that he would surely have told me. His reproaches sting because I love him so dearly: he is all I have.   
If it had been any other inhabitant of Gondolin it would not have been so humiliating, but I was unlucky enough to stumble into Lord Duilin, the Lord of the House of the Swallow, the quickest in temper as he is the quicker in limb! Why not Lord Ecthelion or Lord Glorfindel, one for his gentle and wise character; while the other is known to be kind and light-hearted. Not for nothing does all Gondolin love and admire Lord Glorfindel. But no! It was Lord Duilin of course, as my luck ordained.   
And... yet, there are times I do not feel the disgrace as I should. Now that I found his feather, I cannot help watching it sometimes. In truth, I made a sketch of it, and I intend to paint it. In the name of Vàna, it is so absurd! It is only a feather, a very pretty feather admittedly, but it's just that: a feather; which reminds me of that imbroglio.   
I do not understand myself. Maybe I want to paint a picture of it because Lord Duilin was kind to me, although he should not have been. He apologized, although it was my fault, and helped me up. I think they are just foolish thoughts. Of course, Lord Duilin helped me up, as he would have done for any other. It is not for nothing he is Elf-lords.   
Now, I must return the feather, in a way so that he does not get angry with me. I've been practicing a speech I wrote. I will tell him that he may not remember me, considering that he is so busy protecting our City, and I am not well-known in Gondolin, although I have a privileged position be one of the ladies of-waiting of our Princess. And then I will try to explain what happened, and how I tried to find him and return his feather but failed, and that I had no intention of keeping his feather; and finally, ask him to forgive me one more time for my ungainliness, and then leave... gracefully.   
I've been practicing this conversation over and over with Ardyl, and whenever I feel discouraged over it, Ardyl never fails to make me smile with his chirping. Now that I am facing Lord Duilin, I will try to remember Ardyl. After all, it is said that the Elf-lord loves the wind. Ardyl is the same, he loves to fly through the palace gardens and then return and keep me company.  
Ah! There he is! He is so graceful, more graceful than anyone I have ever seen. Oh, Elyéta! Concentrate! This is no time to be admiring anyone, this is a crucial moment in which you must remember what you are going to say, and ... Válar, have mercy on me and protect me from my own awkwardness! '

***

Duilin lowered his weapon. He vaguely remembered the Elf-maid: her eyes were the ones that had attracted his attention. Yes, he remembered. A few days ago, he had collided with her on the Alley of Roses. He flushed at his clumsiness. He! The quickest of all the Elf-lords had stumbled upon an Elf-maid that he could easily have dodged. It was true that she was also to blame for standing in the middle of the street, but that did not excuse the fact that he had not noticed her. Most likely he had hurt her. To prevent the Elf-maid from seeing his blush, he turned his gaze to his belt as he sheathed his falchion.  
Those seconds in which the Elf-lord sheathed his dagger, Elyéta took the liberty of observing him, and could not but think.  
'How fair he is! His bearing is so graceful!'   
At that moment she realized that he was looking at her strangely, and had an eyebrow raised questioningly. She felt her face glow with embarrassment and instantly looked down at the stone under her feet.  
'Oh, Válar! I've been watching him like a fool!' she thought in distress. 'Pay attention, Elyéta, do not be so clumsy! '  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Lord Duilin.  
"Pardon me, but has something occurred?"  
She looked up, suddenly mute when her eyes met the blue eyes of the Elf-Lord, who could not help thinking,  
'Válar! What beautiful eyes she has! Never in my life have I seen eyes that shine so bright!'   
Elyéta cleared her throat, her voice stiff and strained, and her eyes carefully avoiding his face. Every time she saw him, it seemed that her tongue refused to move.  
"Ah, good evening, my Lord Duilin... ah... I do not know if you remember that two days ago a ... small incident occurred. Um ... ah ... you had the misfortune… that is, I was in your way, and then you stumbled... and... well, it was my fault and well ..." she stuttered. Her heart was beating like the frantic pounding of a hummingbird's wings. Her hands were trembling, so she hid them behind her back, staring at the stone wall, and rocking back slightly on her heels. She looked like a child who just played a prank and is being scolded for it. "Ah ... well, it's my fault you lost this." she blurted and took a rosy silk scarf from her girdle. She unfolded it, revealing the white feather Duilin recognized instantly. "Believe me, my lord, I did not intend to keep it," she continued, her words tumbling from her mouth in a desperate hurry. "It is only that when I realized that it was my fault you had lost one ... ah ... I ran to give it to you, but I could not reach you." She laughed nervously. "Well, of course, you are the fastest Elf in Gondolin. Nobody can surpass you, not even the other Elf-lords, so ... what chance could an Elf-maid without any training stand?" She cleared her throat again, seeing that Duilin was looking at her in confusion. "Ah... in brief, I am returning your feather, and it was my fault you lost it. I am very sorry, and I ask you to forgive me, it was not my intention, believe me. I would have wanted to deliver it before, but I could not until now, please forgive me ... " she said, speaker even faster, and afraid the darkness could not hide her blushes. She was going to continue when she heard Lord Duilin say.  
"It is all right. Thank you for returning my feather. Thank you-"  
She glanced up and saw that he was holding out his hand. She stared at him for a moment, until Lord Duilin told her,  
"Would you give it to me, please?"  
Her cheeks burned.  
"Yes! I apologize!" She held the feather out to him, and he took it, his hand brushing that of the maiden's.  
A strange sensation seized him, a brilliant jolt and then a silence, as if the sea was rushing into his ears, time slowing, and slowing farther still, and finally stopping. He saw the maiden catch her breath, and then blush again. They stared at each other for a few seconds, still and silent and barely breathing. Finally, it was Lord Duilin shook his head, trying to get rid of that silence and strange feeling.  
"I thank you once again for returning my feather," he said.  
"Ah ... yes ... are you not angry with me?" She asked quickly.  
"Not at all" he replied, his eyes sparkling. She was so shy and sweet, as if she was a girl.  
"I ... I'm glad." she stuttered.  
He did not answer. She thought she was intruding and yet could not move. A strange silence wrapped them back into a dream spell, catching them both off guard with its suddenness and intensity, as if they were underwater, the silence of the ocean in their ears. Unwillingly, she said, at last, forcing the words from her throat,  
"I think I should go now. My brother will be waiting for me and I have many things to do. I have to finish painting a picture and play a song with my brother-he wrote it yesterday. I also must find some seeds for Ardyl and ... " she stopped at Duilin's smile. "I am so sorry! I'm rambling, now ... I'm leaving. May you have a blessed night, my Lord," she added with a bow.  
"Have a blessed night," he answered, bowing his head.  
She turned but had not taken two steps when Duilin's voice called her back.  
"Pardon me, but I do not have the honor of knowing your name"  
She blushed, twisting her hands behind her back.  
"My name is Elyéta, my Lord," she replied timidly.  
"It is an honor to meet you, Elyéta," he said with a smile. "Have a blessed night."  
She swallowed and nodded several times.  
"Thank you, my Lord. Have a blessed night." And she walked quickly away, almost running as she went down the stairs as if she wanted to flee from his presence.

***

Elyéta's POV  
'I am an utter fool! A fool, a simpleton...and ten hundred worse things as well! I wrote my speech down, I rehearsed it countless times and for all that... I stuttered and said nonsense! Oh, Elyéta! Just once! Just once, you could have done something right.   
Fortunately, he understood what I wanted to tell him, and that was a miracle of the Válar. With my awkwardness and rambling, I do not think even my brother could have understood my babbling. And I had to talk about my painting and feeding Ardyl, too.   
What interest would he have in what you have to do, Elyéta? He has his own concerns that are far more important than painting a picture. He is the Lord of the Swallow, a Chieftain of Gondolin! And yet you talked about your painting and Ardyl as if he would be interested in them. Maybe, even, I distracted or interrupted him. He cannot have very few leisure moments, and perhaps he was enjoying the night breeze for a brief time, and I interrupted him from his thoughts.  
I was so awkward and so thoughtless, but at the least, I returned his feather to him, and… he was not displeased with me. So, I should be very happy that it Is over. I will not have to talk to him again or show myself off as a fool in front of him. Of course, he thinks I am that, after seeing me babbling.  
And yet, I feel sad ... sad because I will not have any way to approach him again. The feeling... that sudden silence, it was like a dream, a dream we both shared, and I wish I had never woken up from it. It should not have happened, I should not have touched his hand, but we both made a mistake… that is, I made mistake. And now I cannot forget that feeling, or him, his proud demeanor, his beautiful hair braided with white feathers...  
No, I will forget it. He is an Elf-lord and I am merely a lady-in-waiting. He would never notice me, he would never notice me even assuming I got his attention; I would wager my right hand that he will not remember my name or who I am within a week.   
Elyéta, be reasonable. Think about what your life really is! Your brother is waiting for me, and you have to hide this stroke of bad and yet good fortune for him'

***

Lord Duilin's POV  
'What happened to me? Why did I ask her name? Why did I stare at her eyes like a fool? Assuredly, they are the most beautiful eyes I have seen in all my life. No maid, either in Válinor and Ennor, her eyes as bright and beautiful as hers. Ah! They look like two stars, illuminating her beautiful face!  
Válar, what is happening to me?! Why do I think that her words and her apologies were the sweetest ones I have ever heard? Her manner of speaking was awkward, she was very nervous, and yet ... she was so tender, so childishly sweet!   
I do not understand it. I grow irritated with people who ramble and babble nonsense like a brook, but she... she is so different! Although she did all those, I felt no impatience.   
And that strange, enchanted silence? I felt it in my body and my fëa! Sweet Waters of Awakening, what was that? I cannot control it, and I do not like it. I was spellbound, staring at her like a fool like it was the first time I ever spoke with a maiden.  
At the same time, I cannot forget those eyes, those stars that she possesses, that beautiful black hair falling, those flushed cheeks!  
Válar! What is happening to me? I am not like this! I do not let myself be influenced by something so simple, so trivial.   
There is no reason for me to think of her: I care for the things that truly matter. She is certainly important, for she is under my protection, like all the inhabitants of Gondolin, like King Turgon, like the Celebrindal. Elyéta-no! This Elf-maid is another inhabitant of Gondolin and only that. And ... ah! Her beautiful eyes! No! I should not think of it in any way! No! Never!'

***

Under the same starry sky, was Idril Celebrindal, deemed the dearest treasure of her people. Clad in flowing white, with a belt of silver flowers about her slender waist, she glowed like a fallen star in the moonlight. She sat at the foot of a winding marble staircase, playing the high-harp, but her sweet voice, more beautiful than pipe music, more entrancing than a harp, rang out.  
The harp was her most beloved instrument and she played it with mastery, but singing was more to her. Songs were the cornerstone of all Eä, and she loved the power and beauty of the melody, and, save when Ecthelion sung, her songs were the sweetest.  
She was lost in the music, so entranced that she did not notice the shadow under the spreading oak, watching her, following her slightest movement with avid eyes.  
She finished her song: a song that spoke of the joy that Love brings, but also the strength, and when gifted with that strength, one could face the darkest dangers of Hell. It spoke of two lovers, who, thanks to their love, were able to face the trials that endangered their lives and even their love, where many times it seemed that they would never see each other again; but their love had been greater and had united them in such a way that the two, although they did not see each other, were one and fought as one. Because of this eternal love that withstood thousands of hardships, the lovers returned to each other's sides, to live in bliss.  
When the last trembling note, fair as the clear ring of glass bells, was lost in the night air, a voice said,  
"That is a fair song, and the singer is even fairer."  
Idril looked round sharply and saw from the shadows her cousin came, dressed in black leather, the color of the night, and of his heart, she thought bitterly. His black eyes were shining, and he smiled at her, the smile that Idril despised, the smile of her pursuer.

***

Lord Maeglin's POV  
'She is fair, so fair. The light of Vàsa, the Heart of Fire, breaks from her every glance. She cannot contain it, it lights her golden hair and white throat. Ah, slender silver-gold beauty, the soul of song and sunlight. She is a beacon of beauty, which draws me deeper, and yet gives me no welcome.   
No, I am not worthy of her beauty, or her kind heart, but I love her, this jeweled light. Light...aye, always light, light that I love and fear, for Idril is glorious, a flame in which silver and gold together dance, like the great Trees my mother told me of once.   
I fear the light: she fears the dark and the silence. So, she spurns me, drives me aside...and yet, hope is the last thing to die in the breasts of the Eldar.   
If she loved me...what would I not do? If my heart's desire did come true if the torment was relieved by her love...But that is a dream, a distance starlit hope. I will be content to be by her side for now, and her luminance may drown my shadow. I would do anything to see her smile at me, to laugh. And one day, my cousin, Idril Celebrindal will be my wife, whatever the price, I will get it. But at this moment, I will beg her to allow me to be by her side tonight, this will be the first step I will take to achieve my goal: the Silverfoot will be my wife at all costs.'

***

The Princess rose and took up her harp with a look of loathing.  
The young Elf-Lord greeted her with a bow.  
"Cousin."  
"Maeglin," she answered coolly, bowing her head slightly in greeting. "What are you doing here?"  
"I heard singing, Celebrindal, and was entranced. So, I came to find the singer, and here I have discovered that it is you, my cousin," he said, fixing his black eyes on the blue ones of her. "Song is a beautiful thing, and you are skilled in it. My ability lies not in such things, neither music nor dancing, it is forging and melding, rougher crafts, and yet I have made a gift for you." He held out his palm. In it lay a brooch of golden filigree, set with small glittering diamonds. "Please, I beg of you, my cousin, accept my gift. I know nothing that I fashion will match your loveliness, but at least let me give you something that tries, though coarsely, to equal your beauty, cousin."  
Idril looked at the brooch. It was Lords a jewel of exquisite beauty, a jewel worthy of a Queen, a jewel that any Elf-maid would long to have and wear in her hair; but for her, it represented only another vain gift. What good was the gift if she did not even use them? The Celebrindal did not use nor want his presents, because of her cousin's dark heart and twisted love. Her father did not believe what she had said: Maeglin was hounding her, closer than her own shadow. So, her refusal was to protect herself.  
He did not seem to understand her rejection, nor did he respect it. She did not wish to have any association with him: she would have preferred to deny her kinship with Maeglin, but that would have angered her father. Certainly, she knew of the difficult life Maeglin had led, and it was understandable that he would seek friendship, and she would have willingly been kind to him, but she had seen, since Aredhel's death, Maeglin did not desire friendship...he desired her, a lust that ran deeper than love.  
"I appreciate your gift, Lord Maeglin, but I'm afraid I cannot accept it," she said quietly, emphasizing his title, and in this way, demonstrating that there was a great distance between her and him. Because they were kin, she would not leave him without deigning an answer.  
"Why, Idril?" Maeglin asked, pain in his black eyes. "I know that it does not compare to your beauty, but it is the closest I have been able to create. In this craft, I have striven to put in it not only all the minute details that I have noticed in you, but also your perfect beauty and the love that I have for you."  
"So that is the reason you have been hounding wherever I go?" she said coldly. "You must have fashioned hundreds of brooches like this: you have followed me often enough."  
A pain slashed through Maeglin's heart, and a gleam flashed through his onyx, but it faded away to repressed adoration, and the Celebrindal read in them the twisted love that disgusted her.  
"It is not my intention to anger you, Idril," he replied, quietly. "But you are beautiful, Idril, beautiful and brilliant. Like the sunflowers, that raise their heads to see the Sun, so, I am also, like one of them. You are my Sun, cousin, and my face, my eyes cannot ever turn away from you." he paused, taking a step towards her in appealing demeanor. "You know my life, it has been steeped in shadows since my birth under the trees, and even in Gondolin, remains cold and lonely. I am the Half-Noldo bastard, the Son of the Wife-Slayer, and few see me with kind eyes. If perhaps you, my beloved cousin, would allow me to enjoy the kindness you show to others! You are kind to others-beloved throughout the City for your goodness-but you disdain me."  
"Maeglin, you are not treated coldly by all. My father sees you kindly, and of all in the Council you have the most influence," answered Idril, in turn taking a step backward. "Not even older and more experienced Lords, such as Lord Ecthelion, have as much sway over my father as you do. What is more, there are Lords who try to show you goodwill, as Lord Glorfindel, Lord Ecthelion, Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and Lord Salgant."  
"Certainly cousin; but you forget that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion do it because they feel bound too," he replied bitterly.  
"And what about Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and, above all, Lord Salgant?" She retorted fiercely. "Perhaps you will also blame them for what happened, Maeglin? Perhaps you will also despise them? Let Lord Salgant hear you say so! He, who has so often faced the biting comments and gossip because of his friendship with you. Or perhaps, you do not consider him to be your friend. Perhaps you are the honest and grateful enough to realize that Lord Salgant truly appreciates you."  
Lord Maeglin remained silent for a moment. It was true, the Lord of the House of the Harp held him in high esteem and still admired him. He was the only one of the eleven Lords who saw him without prejudice and had good will for him. In fact, Maeglin had benefited from that friendship many times, since he had been able to use since many times the young Elf-lord had used Lord Salgant's kindness to manipulate him for his own convenience. Maeglin did not always like to use Lord Salgant to achieve some goal, but his love for Idril had silenced his conscience. But, he did not consider Salgant as a friend. He was a means to be used. But that would not tell the Celebrindal because it was to give her a weapon, and he would lose an excellent card from his hand.  
"Truth is beautiful, and as always, you speak the truth." he answered.  
Idril gritted her teeth. Even when she reproached him, her cousin wooed her.  
"However," Maeglin continued after a moment, "They are all male; none of them has the gentleness that a female has, or the kindness that only a female can show towards a poor bastard like me."  
The Princess felt a shiver on her back. The black eyes of Lord Maeglin shone strangely, a fanatic gleam. And perhaps he was mad: perhaps his love-his desire for her had pushed him to the brink. She shuddered. The desire that caused him to dog her over Gondolin. And when that did not work? Would it be to her chambers next? What would she do then?  
"You do not need the company of a female to you feel comforted," she replied, taking two steps up the flight of stairs, and grasping the body of the harp, ready to use it as a weapon lest her cousin made any move towards her. "If, instead of being cold and bitter towards those with which you share the duty and privilege of protect our city; I assure you that you would not need female company." She paused. "Maeglin, I think you are looking for the company of the wrong person. I am certain that all the Lords would make an effort to befriend you, despite your temperament. However, you always isolate yourself, locking yourself in your forge without a care for..."  
"That is a lie. I care for you!" Maeglin exclaimed angrily. "The kingdoms of the world do not weigh with me besides the hem of your dress, Idril! I would not look at a sunset if I could see you, I would not listen to a harp if I could hear you speak! Life without you means nothing to me!"  
"If I am so dear to you, you will understand that I hate you hounding me across the city, and you would stop doing it!" cried Idril.  
"Idril-"  
Idril drew a deep breath, her voice suddenly stark and devoid of emotion.  
"Do you not agree, cousin?" she interrupted, locking his passionate gaze with her icy one.  
Lord Maeglin could not answer for a moment. The Celebrindal's gaze was as cold as the ice of the Helcaraxë itself, and her face, which was always lit with smiles, was as hard as mithril. Seeing that she had managed to silence him, Idril hurried heatedly.  
"If you want to feel less alone, you should look for friends among the Lords. After all, you share mutual ties with them. If you want to be accepted, then be kinder to others. And if you want me to be kind with you, then STOP DOGGING ME! There is no child of Ennor, above all the gentle females who enjoy being shadowed." she finished, irony in her voice.  
Maeglin opened his mouth to rebut, but Idril did not let him speak.  
"And although it may not seem like it, it is; regardless if the reason is to forge a brooch or simply to delight in someone's beauty. If you truly want to show your goodwill, why not forge a gift for Lord Salgant? His begetting day will be in a couple of weeks, it will surely give him great pleasure to receive a gift made by your own hands."  
The young Lord of the House of the Mole bowed his face in utter shame. The words of the Princess were so hard and so painful that he could not answer. And even if he could have answered, he would never do it because he loved her ... no ... he adored her.  
"Have a blessed night, cousin," she finished and went up the stairs with the grace that defined her, her delicate feet scarcely touching the steps.  
When she was about to reach the end of the flight, she heard the voice of Lord Maeglin who was halfway up the stairs.  
"Cousin, at least accept this my gift," he said in a voice full of unshed tears.  
Idril looked at him coldly.  
"No." she replied after a moment.  
"Please, cousin, I beg you!" he begged, his eyes full of tears.  
Idril studied him with scorn, and then took it.  
"I warn you Lord Maeglin, do not expect to see me use the brooch," she said, "Because I will never use it for any reason."  
"At least I have the small recompense that your beautiful hands have touched this small gift I made for you," he replied sadly.  
The Princess nodded,  
"Very well."  
"Have a blessed night, my Princess," he said.  
Upon hearing this, Idril flinched, and went silently into the palace, carrying in one delicate hand the beautiful diamond brooch. Seeing it glitter in the lantern light, she sighed impatiently. Another useless gift! If only he would understand that the best gift he could give her was to stop dogging her!  
Lord Maeglin watched her go, his eyes blurred with tears. There was a rawness to his grief: his body shook, his face full of grief, loss, devastation. Then his eyes became colder, resumed their old repressed quiet, as another emotion was added: spite. Why was his beautiful cousin so cruel to him? Was it his fault for being the son of the Dark Elf? If it were, he would have preferred never to be born! But such a wish could not be fulfilled, and now, he had to face all the consequences that had brought such a miserable union between the Dark Elf Eöl and his beloved mother Aredhel. Ah! If his mother still be alive! Surely, she would plead for him in front of his beloved cousin.  
Once again, he had been rejected and perhaps this time it had been the cruelest. But that did not matter, no, it did not matter. As in tempering the iron to forge the perfect sword, one had to have patience; so also, he would have the patience to earn his cousin's love and one day ... one day he would call her his.

***

Unknown to both, hidden among the shadows that a curtain created, a tall figure had seen and heard everything that had passed between the Princess and the Elf-lord. And when it saw that both the Flower of Gondolin and the Lord of the House of the Mole had departed, this figure withdrew soundlessly.


	20. Power of music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duilin's has an ill temper. Why? What will the end of the bet of Lord Glorfindel and Laura's bet? And what about the broken relationship between Turgon and his daughter? Will be ever amended? After all it was a very strong argument.

Chapter 20: Power of Music

(Menelya, Day of the Heavens. Yavannië {September} Yávië, Waning of Summer, First Age 463)

The past several days, Glorfindel had observed a change in Hwa Young. She seemed distracted, to a greater degree that he had ever before seen. Commonly, when he told her of the city or some small story of his past life, he sensed she was paying close attention, even if she showed no outward signs of it. But now, it was different. He had never seen her like this: she had lost interest in everything he told her, which had surprised but deeply hurt him. He had always made a great effort to stay with her, even when the situation merited his abrupt departure, and had striven to be kind in answer her sneers and ill manners. So, he did not understand the reason for this attitude.  
Every morning, when he walked to the palace, after speaking with her all night, he returned in a thoughtful state of mind, trying to find the answer to her sudden change of attitude of the young woman, without finding any explanation that would satisfy his questions... until the night he got the answer he wanted.

***

After Laura had translated 'On Horseback' into Exicilix Quenya, Glorfindel had not brought his harp. Between his labor as a Lord, he was busy tuning and caring for it. He had rebuilt the harp after she had destroyed it, but because it was a new instrument, it was still temperamental under his hands, and he wanted its sound to be sweet and melodious now more than ever, for he desired to play her song in the most beautiful way he knew how.  
Glorfindel did not understand the meaning of that song. The lyrics make no sense to him, but he realized that for her it was very special, and its meaning precious, to such a degree she had cried in front of him.  
Strangely enough, the young woman had not asked him why he had not brought his harp with him, she did not seem to care, or if she did, she did not want to show it. She had always shown herself to be uninterested in other people and what other people thought of her, for the most part.  
Finally, when his harp yielded a sound so harmonious that Ecthelion had congratulated him, and he had finished embellishing and gilding the body of his instrument, he took it once more to the cottage.

***

"The Noldor are the most skilled with metals, nigh as skilled as Aulë's children, the Naugrim," he said. "There are many skilled smiths and jewelers in Gondolin, not to speak of the Noldor architects."  
There was a short silence. Beyond the cottage, he heard a verse praising the harvest Kementári had given them. A young male was singing, and he heard a maiden echo his voice on the last line.  
"When summer birds take to wing   
Flying southwards there to sing   
Then my song shall rise to the sky   
And echo back from clouds so high   
A lullaby of rest and peace   
When plantings sleep and harvests cease."   
He stopped listening when she answered him.  
"Like Lord Maeglin," Laura said without turning to see him. She was watching the hardy oak leaves that rustled, and beyond them, the evening that lengthened beneath the heel of Menelvagor, the Swordsman in the Sky.  
"Ah ... yes," Glorfindel answered uncomfortably. "He and all the House of which he is Lord: The House of the Mole are excellent architects and craftsmen."  
"I guessed that. After all, Lord Maeglin's father, Eöl, was a genius in smithying."  
Lord Glorfindel frowned. How did she know such a thing? As if Laura guessed his thoughts, she turned and added, "Lord Maeglin told me his sad story."  
Glorfindel lifted his eyebrows in surprise, the Prince was neither friendly or well-known for his openness.  
"There is no doubt that even among you there are Shakespearian tragedies." Laura chuckled derisively. "Even though, you are the Elves, the most 'pro' beings of all Ennor!"  
Glorfindel ignored the last part. It was pointless to try and convince her of anything else. "Who or what is this Shakespearian?" he asked.  
"Shakespearean refers to the dramas written by a genius named William Shakespeare."  
Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask about this man; at last, he could learn about her realm without having to bicker with her for information. But Laura did not care to explain. Instead, she added quickly. "In short, what an interesting thing to know that you, the Noldor, are such incredible craftsmen."  
"I'm not Noldo." he answered, "I am only half-Noldo."  
Perhaps if he spoke a little about himself, she would explain to him about these Shakespeare dramas, but it seemed that Laura sensed his intentions because all she did was turn around and look at the vines that capriciously adorned her paling. This night, those vines were far more interesting than anything he said.  
"Ah!"  
Glorfindel ignored her studied indifference, and the jibe implied in her tone.  
"I am half-Vanya. That is to say that in my blood runs the blood of the Fair Elves: the Vanyar. My mother was Vanya, my father was Noldo. That is how I learned to play, for although the Noldor prefer viols and like instruments, the Fair-Elves played harps."  
"How interesting!" She answered, her voice heavy with irony, as she stared at the flowering vines, blossoming with orange and golden blossoms.  
Glorfindel's jaw tensed. He had not spoken of his mother only to have her tossed aside, like her and her race was a worthless bauble. He would stay, but if she ever dared to insult his mother, he would leave forever. No friendship was worth the violation of Lairëa's memory.  
"Hwa-Young, what is it?" He asked, trying to speak gently.  
"What do you mean by: 'what is it'?" She replied mimicking his voice.  
Glorfindel took a deep breath, which did not go unnoticed by Laura who smirked.  
'No, I'm not going to let you get it,' he thought, and clinging to this thought, he answered in the calmest way feasible,  
"I asked you," he said, mimicking her voice. "'What is it?', because I know that when something hurts you. You hide it by being on the offensive, bickering me and provoking me. But I want to help you. And the only true way I can help you, is not by bickering, because that will not take away your pain, it will only increase it." he paused. "Hwa-Young, what's wrong?" he asked, his blue eyes fixed on her, trying to find the slightest sign that would let him know what was happening inside that shell. "I know that most likely I do not yet have your confidence, that what I did two weeks ago is not enough to have earned it; but I do know one thing: I know you are suffering and I do not want you to suffer, I want to know you, I want to help you, I want ... I want you to be happy."  
Laura turned, staring at him hard. Glorfindel did not see gratitude in them, but neither did he find rejection in them. He did not see happiness, but she was not angry either, the only thing he saw for a moment was a flicker of sadness, that disappeared as the night wind blows out a candle, but it was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. For a few minutes, she stared at him, her eyes impassive now. Finally, she returned her gaze to the vine.  
He sighed in inward exasperation. He had nearly made her open! Taking up his harp, he began to play her song: maybe when she heard, she would change her attitude, but her reaction was entirely different.  
"Stop playing that song," she said in a strained voice.  
"But-" he began to protest, although now he knew what was disturbing her.  
"Stop playing it. I will not repeat it again," she answered, her green eyes threatening him. They were rigid, cold, hard, narrowed like a viper who is ready to strike. Her attack was not a primary concern for Glorfindel. Although he had heard that some of the House of Hador had a strength that rivaled the Noldor's, he was certain that this woman had no training. The only thing he did was grasp his harp: he did not have the slightest intention of letting any damage be done to this one, now that he had just fine-tuned it.  
"I do not understand why," he answered, playing a couple more notes. It was necessary to make her speak, even if he had to face her anger, the fury of a person wounded in the most intimate area, the fury of a person who seemed to fear nothing.  
"Now!" shouted Laura, clenching one of her fists. Glorfindel prepared to dodge her attack, but the woman instead hit the bench with such force it made a crack in the wood.  
Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow in cool astonishment. He would never have believed that the firíma had such strength! Perhaps the strength that renowned Hador's descendants were not only among his children but in the inhabitants of North Korea.  
"Hwa-Young," he said softly, trying to calm her.  
She was panting with rage. He was reminded of a wildfire-he could all but see the green flames sparking in her eyes, ready to ignite anything that she came in contact with. If it were not for some strange feeling that forced her to stop, Laura would have rushed the Elf-lord and attacked him with her claws.  
"Don't you dare play it again!" she said, clenching her teeth and leaning forward. "If you cannot understand what it means, you do not have the slightest right to play it, let alone sing it."  
Glorfindel studied at her for a moment. No doubt he had infuriated her, but he was determined to still face a blow in order to reach the desired response.  
"And how am I going to understand it if you do not explain to me?" He asked, leaning towards her. She sat up, her back as rigid as her features.  
"As I told you that time: you would not understand, even if I explained it to you," she answered in a low voice.  
"But at least I could try," he said in the same tone.  
Her threatening attitude changed little by little until she was only tense, but in her eyes flickered a light of sadness that once again, only lasted a moment, but her body emanated sadness, that the Elf-lord, as perceptive as he was, immediately sensed.  
'Something is hurting her for a long time and this song either remind her or relieves her.' he thought 'I have to know which of the two possibilities is the real one and why.'  
So, he stared at her, without moving, waiting to receive an answer patiently, something that did not go unnoticed by Laura.  
"It's better that you never know," she said finally, her voice low and forced. "It is a weight that only I should carry."  
"No," he replied, his posture showing goodwill and concern, his voice low as he looked her in the eyes. "It is not only you must carry it. I can help you."  
Laura smiled, a smile full of pain. She looked at him and then said quietly.  
"No, you cannot."  
"Why?"  
"Because I've shared it with other people, and all of them have fled from me. They've been horrified by my past and they've pushed me aside."  
"I will not do it."  
Laura raised an eyebrow mockingly.  
"Aha," she answered. "An angel like you, in shining armor, loved by all? You? No, you would be the first to do it. The Sun cannot join the night, because they are the opposite. The Sun brings life, night brings death. No, you and I are totally different." she paused. "You cannot understand or help me, but you did, you would run away never to return; because for you to be able to stay, the only way is that you also have a dark past, as dark as mine. And nobody but a single person has been able to stay by my side once they knew." she finished in a muffled whisper.  
Glorfindel looked intently at her face. Her eyes were glistening damply, and she had fixed her gaze on a distant point to prevent him from seeing it.  
"Who was that person?" He asked after a moment  
"His name was Remmy. He was from France," she answered. "He had a past as dark as mine, so when he knew how it had been before my life, he did not go away. In fact..." she chuckled melancholically, "In fact, he considered me his friend and did small things to make me smile, even for a moment. He called me 'Petite'." A few of tears had rolled down Laura's cheeks. Her voice was no longer threatening, little by little it had become sad and dreamy. "But then ... we had to separate, and I never saw him again." She paused again, for a long time, and her eyes turned cold. "So, if he, who knew my past, which was echoed somewhat in his own, never dared to sing 'On Horseback' ... what gives you the right to sing it? You do not know my past. Your life has always been as bright as the Sun and golden like your hair! How dare you sing it without knowing its meaning!" She leveled a gaze with all the warmth of chipped ice at him.  
"You are right: nothing gives me the right to sing or play it" he answered after a few moments. "But then ... why did you teach me it?"  
"Because you said you liked it and because I thought ..." Laura stopped and again evaded his gaze.  
"You thought I could understand it? That I could understand you?" he asked.  
Laura did not answer, it was her silence that answered what Glorfindel was asking.  
"No, I do not understand you yet, but I know that one day I will," he said gently.  
Laura laughed bitterly.  
"The first part is true, you do not understand me, but you never will."  
"Do you think I'm as bright as gold and the Sun, Hwa-Young? I will show you that I am not," he answered. "I left my homeland, Válinor, under an oath of fealty to the High King of the Noldor. But I could have stayed. I could have tried to convince my parents to stay, but I did not and now ... now I have the wrath of the Válar over me." he paused. "I could have tried harder and maybe I could have saved Queen Elenwë. I could have done more, but now she is in the Hall of Mandos while King Turgon suffers the pain that half of his fëa is torn away from him."  
Laura frowned slightly at this. 'half of his fëa'? It was probably an expression like the one used on Earth: 'your soulmate'.  
"I could have saved my father in battle, but I did not and now both he and my mother are in the Hall." he continued, tears silently streaking down his face. "My mother faded for the grief and I lost my two parents. he paused again, trying to rein in his emotions. "I could have made a greater effort together with Lord Ecthelion and sought reinforcements to prevent the Lady Aredhel from being lost in Nan Elmoth,.. " He shook his head with a bitter smile. "I am not as bright as the Sun, nor is my past as gold as my hair."  
"Apparently the says applies among Elves too. 'Not everything that glitters is gold' '." she murmured. Glorfindel turned to her. That was one of their proverbs. She did not scorn their culture as much as she professed too.  
"True and wise words," he admitted. "But you can also say that 'not everything dull is worthless'. Precious stones are often covered by stone and earth which, at first sight, do not seem to have a greater value, and which anybody would discard and put aside."  
Laura slowly turned her gaze to him, her features and eyes blank. There was a long silence in which Glorfindel realized that this time the young woman would not explain or show what she was really thinking.  
"I will not play or sing 'On Horseback'." he said "I swear on my honor, Hwa-Young. You can trust my word."  
"I know" she replied without looking at him. "I know," she repeated softly as if to herself.  
He gazed at her, blue eyes shocked. Apparently, there were things he had achieved that he was not allowed to see for fear he would take exploit it. A sudden joy made him take a rash venture. He took up his harp and began to sing, nimble fingers finding the notes and setting the night dancing to their tune.  
At first, she tensed and clenched her fists, but then they began to relax, and she began to smile, a smile of tranquility and enjoyment, closing her eyes.

"Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight  
The stars are stretching far as sight   
O, though time and world are in flight   
There is peace in the cradle of twilight.  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
Silver and violet so dusky sweet  
Time when night and day do meet   
Stars are spinning, shining bright   
In the soft cradle of pale twilight  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
The gold fades, the silver grows   
An enchanted dusk over us flows   
A promise comes in twilight gray   
Hope shall not fail nor love decay.  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight   
When the stars stretch far as sight   
For love and hope are always dear   
Dearer still when twilight is near."

When the last note was lost in the night air, Laura opened her eyes and fixed them on his. He smiled, glad to see her reaction.  
"It is a song that my mother used to sing," he said by way of explanation.  
Laura nodded slowly.  
"It's very beautiful." she answered, lowering her gaze.  
"That is true, but yours is no less beautiful. They're just ... different," he said, rightly guessing what she was thinking.  
Upon hearing this, Laura looked up and looked at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Really?" She asked anxiously.  
"Yes. Why do you think I liked it, Hwa-Young? I do not like uncouth music, and I would never play it, but 'On Horseback' is beautiful. Very different, but that does not detract from their merit or beauty."  
Laura chuckled, trying to hide the tears of joy in her eyes.  
"I'm glad you think so. That ... that means a lot to me." she murmured.  
Glorfindel smiled.  
"I thought that, if I learned to play 'On Horseback', it would be fair for you to learn to play this song," he said.  
"It seems fair," she agreed after a few moments  
"I will seek to be a good teacher, I do not have the ability of Lord Ecthelion, but I will try. The harp is a difficult instrument to play."  
"So, playing the harp is too difficult for a firíma to learn?" she asked mockingly.  
"I know that you are capable of learning. I saw you learn to speak our language without a teacher, but the art of music is completely different, as Lord Ecthelion would tell you."  
"Yes, but Lord Ecthelion is not here. as he won't be my teacher" she replied.  
Glorfindel frowned, not understanding what she meant.  
"If it really is sooo complicated," she continued. "Then I propose a wager ... I bet you that I can learn to play it in the same period of time when you learned 'On Horseback'."  
Glorfindel hid his laughter.  
"I'll wager you this: the one who loses cuts their hair."  
Glorfindel stopped laughing. But what madness was she thinking?  
"Very well." he said "I accept the wager. But, if you set those rules do not complain when the game goes against you."  
Laura smiled grimly.  
'Surely she thinks she will win,' thought Glorfindel 'I am so sorry for her!'  
'"Deal?" Laura asked.  
"Deal," he answered.  
The woman offered her hand. Glorfindel looked at her and then the hand she offered him, and then slowly took it. Laura gave him a firm squeeze, and a wide smile appeared on her lips.  
He smiled back at her, but he could not understand the strangle tingle he felt when he touched her hand. If Laura felt it too, it did not seem she gave it the slightest importance, so he also put it aside.  
Seeing that the Elf-lord was still staring at her, Laura crossed her arms and tilted her head to the right.  
"Alright, master ... what is lesson number one?"

***

Idril sat in an alcove adorned with autumn roses. The morning sunlight was spilling over to caress their crimson heads and her golden hair, as she read. The book was one of her favorites. It spoke about the different flowers and their origins, each different from the other, and was adorned with colorful and beautiful illustrations, drawn and hand-painted by of one of her ladies-in-waiting. Seeing a large orchid colored with delicate shades of pink and lilac, its green stem entangled capriciously with itself while several oblong glossy leaves adorned its base, she could not but think,  
'Indeed, Elyéta is an excellent artist.'  
Her lady-of-waiting was young, shy and lived in the midst of her art. She did not usually deal with many people, her life was focused especially on serving Idril, being with her brother and painting. It was in that art that she was conspicuously good, and would spend days without stopping on her project, for Elyéta loved her work.  
That was a characteristic that Idril liked in her young lady-in-waiting because, despite her youth and shyness, she was a wise maid and knew that all art is important in one way or another. Blessed would be the one who won Elyéta's heart!  
Then, as she considered love, the Celebrindal could not help but sigh. Her young lady-in-waiting was not as beautiful as her, nor was she the daughter of the High King of the Noldor... but, she was not forced to deal with problems, principally one known as 'Lord Maeglin'. Sometimes the Princess thought that Elyéta was lucky, for her brother Linwe, was jealously protective of his little sister. Perhaps that would make it difficult for an ellon to get close to Elyéta, but Idril preferred that her father do such a thing, instead of ignoring her cousin's constant hounding.  
She looked up quickly. A great bush, with flowers of white, obstructed her view, but she heard footsteps. A minute later, she relaxed, recognizing the firm, long stride of her father.  
"Atar!" she exclaimed cheerfully, rising immediately to greet him.  
He smiled at her, but his smile was different and the Celebrindal noticed it. Primarily when she saw him making a gesture to sit down again.  
"Atar, is something wrong?" she inquired in concern.  
"I see you are reading," was his response "What is it?"  
Idril showed him the book.  
"Ah! About flowers!" he answered, suddenly melancholy, while before his agate-grey eyes appeared the image of Elenwë, laughing, amused at a gallant comment he made when she had offered him a blood-red flower. Elenwë had loved him with all her fëa, but she had not made the task of wooing her a simple task. No, the Elf-lady had judged wisely: instead of being swept off her feet at his chivalrous comments, she only laughed and teased him. But gradually, she had shown her favor as when she had given him that crimson blossom. In his ears again, the laughter of his beloved and deceased wife resounded, a sound which Turgon would have given all his wealth and perhaps even Gondolin, in exchange for it.  
A crystalline voice drew him out of his sad reflections. The King turned to his daughter, meeting her concerned eyes. She knew he had been thinking of her mother, which made her sad because she realized that the pain of her losing her mother was intensified in her widowed father. Turgon looked at her for a moment and could not help but think that Idril looked very much like his wife, in wisdom and in beauty, and like Elenwë, she knew how to keep people who disliked her away from her, although her daughter, perhaps because of her youth, did not have the same tact that her mother has… or so he believed.

***

"Atar, what's wrong?" repeated Idril.  
The king returned the book while smiling at her melancholy.  
"I remembered your mother, Itarillë," he murmured.  
Idril thought that her father was going to add a comment, on what similarity there was between her and Elenwë, or he would begin one of the many stories that she never tired of hearing.  
"You know Itarillë?" He began. "Now that I see you reading, a story that I read yesterday has come to my mind."  
Idril looked at him while her blue eyes lit up with joy. Her father was skilled at telling stories and she loved to hear to them.  
"Some time ago, in a beautiful city, there lived an Elven Lord and Lady." Turgon began. "This Lady was beautiful, the most beautiful creature anyone had ever seen, and the Lord did not lack grace and gallantry, though he was never as beautiful as the Lady who rivaled the Sun in splendor. The two were very different, different as day and night. Even in their dress they were contrary. The Lady used to dress in snowy dresses, while the Lord dressed in black, which gave him a gloomy appearance, in contrast to the city of light where he lived, and even more so with the beautiful lady he loved." He paused. Idril felt a nearly imperceptible chill run down her back, it was not necessary to be gifted with prescience to understand her father's tale. "The Lady was not only beautiful physically, but her heart was equally fair. Her kind temper made her loved and admired by everyone around her. Yes, with everyone she was friendly and offered her smiles, everyone, save this Lord. Strange enough, it was this Lord who showed her the most loyalty, kindness, and affection, more than all the inhabitants of the city. His affection for her could only be rivaled by that of this lady's father. But this elf-lady so beautiful, so sweet, so understanding and so kind to everyone else was cold and ruthless towards this Lord, whose only offense was to consider her beautiful, to love her as no one else did save her father, to be faithful though she spurned him again and again, both his person and his gifts that he made with his own hands. And I assure you that each of these gifts were worthy of any queen. Artanis herself would wonder at the clasp of gold and diamonds that Lord gave to that Lady and would accept it, although she might never wear it. But this beautiful lady, who was not known for her pride, like Finarfin's youngest child, not only never wore any of the many gifts the Lord made especially for her, sometimes she did not even accept them. Only occasionally did she take them for sheer pity to that Lord." he paused again. Idril shuddered slightly, it was clear that his father had been an invisible witness of the disturbance that had occurred two weeks ago. "I was pensive and perplexed as to why she would disdain the gifts he made with his hands, with long, toiling labor. Think of what it must have taken to attach each of those brilliant diamonds to that gold clasp. For me, there was no reason for this lady to be so cruel and ruthless towards this lord whose only crime had been to consider her beautiful and to have a great affection for her, the one he considered an anchor in the midst of his sad and difficult life."  
King Turgon stared at his daughter, his steel eyes searching for the truth in the ones of his young daughter.  
"Why do you mistreat your cousin, Itarillë?" he finally asked. "Why do you treat him as if he is your enemy?"  
"I see you were present during our ... conversation that night" she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Perhaps this time she would be able to convince her father of what was happening "You heard it, Atar, it's because he follows me all over the city as if he were my own shadow."  
"And maybe that gives you the right to mistreat him?" He answered, clearly angered. "What is so wrong with him trying to spend some time alone with you?"  
"Atar, he does want to be alone with me, but not in that way..." she tried to explain, her natural delicacy restraining her from blurting out what she thought he truly wanted.  
"So, what do you want, Itarillë?" "Pressed Turgon. "He is your cousin, he wishes to be with you."  
"Yes, Atar, but ..."  
"Do you have any difficulty with your cousin wanting to be by your side?"  
"He does not want to be by my side, Atar, he wants to be ... he wants to be ON me!" Snapped the Princess.  
For a moment the High King was speechless. His calm face suddenly changed, and his eyes glittered. Idril had never seen her father so enraged: her breath hitched in her chest, for in that flash of a moment she felt she had been pierced to the heart. It was a chill and hollow feeling. Turgon's anger struck with coiled and terrible precision, leaving the victim stunned and open to attack.  
"How do you dare speak of your cousin like that!" he cried, angry with her for the first time in hundreds of years. "How! Do you know what the accusation you made against him means!"  
"Yes, I know, and I do not retract my words!" she said, tears that she could not step running down her face. Her father's anger had only filled her cup of endurance to overflowing.  
"How is it possible!" Exclaimed Turgon. "How is it possible that my daughter would dare make such a false accusation against her cousin!"  
"It's not false, it's the truth, Atar!" She cried. "Ask any of the Elf-lords if it's true that Lord Maeglin is dogging me all over Gondolin. Many times, I have had to flee towards them so that he leaves me alone!  
"If I remember correctly, Idril, he told you he was following you because it was his way of being inspired to make that beautiful brooch that, you do not have the kindness to use!"  
The Princess laughed bitterly. How blind was her father, how far-sighted, that he could see so far and clearly, but his clear-sightedness failed to see that which was nearest to his heart.  
"Be inspired by me? Do you believe such a lie, Atar! No, he does not pursue me for inspiration. No, he looks for me to get my favor and something more than that! I would not be surprised if one of these days I found him in my chambers when I'm alone. He is strong, Atar, working the mines has made him very strong."  
"Do not speak of your cousin like that!"  
"Cousin!" she spat in fury. "He is not my cousin!"  
Turgon looked down at her, grey eyes filled with rage.  
"Do you forget that his mother was MY SISTER, your AUNT, Aredhel!"  
"That does not mean I consider him my cousin," Idril answered coldly, in defiance of her father.  
"I never thought I would hear such harshness and cruelty from my daughter." His sudden anger had gone like a thunder-clap but was replaced by icy coldness and a tone of profound disappointment that stabbed the Princess.  
"Neither did I believe that my father was so blind, and would not defend me from my enemy," she answered quietly, trying to hide the blow his words had dealt her by returning it.  
Turgon's eyes were wide. Never, even in his most terrible nightmares, had he ever imagined that his Itarillë would say such a thing. Idril closed her book and got up, her voice cool.  
"It is obvious there is no use in continuing our argument. You will not defend me, so the only recourse I have is to defend myself by distancing Maeglin."  
The King got up quickly. He was not just going to let her go. As a daughter, she must obey and listen to his voice, but the Celebrindal gave a quick side-step away, saying,  
"I want to be alone."  
And she disappeared, leaving Turgon, whose sudden desolation overrode his anger. He stumbled, tears trickling down his cheeks. For her part, Idril went straight to her chambers, ordered all her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone that day. She sat down before her bureau, and after looking at herself for a few moments in the mirror, she burst into soft sobs in which anger, desolation, and disappointment were mingled.

***

"Loose!"  
A flight of arrows shivered the cool, early-morning air. All those who wished to serve in one of the Eleven Houses or to be guards in the City had to train rigorously and must be skilled in all weapons. The training was challenging, intended to weed out the weak and half-hearted, although it would not as it was later under Laura's supervision.  
He had commanded them to release their arrows instinctively: he could not see the training-his eyes were there, but his mind had flown to the person who had not left his thoughts for two weeks: Elyéta.  
Impatient and upset at himself-he, who had scorned the sentimentalism displayed by lovers! But a brush of her hand was all it took: he had felt it in his very fëa, and now he could not erase her memory nor her clumsy, yet sweet apologies. Duilin had always prided himself on being able on being master of himself, to maintain control; and here an Elf-maid awkward in words, but beautiful in body and spirit had taken over his mind and had not left him while he was awake, much less when he slept. The few of times he had slept those two weeks had only been so that he could dream of that meeting, with perfect clarity. And it was this that made him ill-tempered, enough so that the other Lords, who knew him for his hot-headed disposition, had been surprised, although no one had dared to ask the reason. It was preferable to leave Lord Duilin with his own thoughts. If the proud and irritable Lord deemed he needed help or talk to someone, there they would be, principally Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod.  
A voice interrupted him from his thoughts.  
"Lord Duilin!"  
Finally, the Lord of the Swallow turned slowly to his interlocutor: Lord Salgant. Unfortunately, the tasseled Lord of the Harp, just as he was one with weak convictions, also lacked insight, so he did not notice Duilin's strained face.  
"Lord Duilin, is all well?" inquired Lord Salgant.  
"Of course," he answered with a restrained smile.  
Duilin's quick ears caught the sound of sprinting feet and saw Egalmoth and Penlod come running, trying to stop the unfortunate Lord of the Harp, who at that moment said, "I have noticed you do not seem very engrossed with the training of this company. Would you train with me?"  
The dangerous smile Duilin gave him would have taken care of any reasonable being, but Salgant did not see this.  
"Of course, Lord Salgant."  
The other smiled and gestured for them to enter the courtyard, aside from the buttes.  
Egalmoth and Penlod looked at each other. They had arrived too late.  
"What? Did you stop him?" asked a loud voice.  
Lord Rog was standing there, looking through the gateway into the courtyard, where the two Lords were preparing. Duilin's lean, hard form and his nimble moves were at odds with Salgant's heavy limbs and ungainly movements.  
"I see not," he added, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. "I am sorry for Salgant."  
Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod looked at him and then at each other.  
"We are as well," answered the Lord of the House of Heavenly Arch.


	21. Battle with swords and within hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how it goes in this duel between Lord Duilin and Lord Salgant as well as the plot developing between the Lord of the Swallow and Elyéta... aaand another plot will start in this chapter.

Chapter 21: Battles With Swords and Within Hearts

"We are as well," replied the Lord of the House of Heavenly Arch.   
And it was not surprising that the three Elf-lords pitied Salgant. The Lord of the House of the Swallow was known for his marvelous agility and speed: known as the fleetest Elf of all Gondolin and, perhaps, among all the Noldor. His clear mind and quickness made him an opponent that was not only formidable, but dangerous when his blood was roused, and Duilin had been an ill temper for the past two weeks. It was clear to the three onlookers that his attack was as quick and hot as his temper.   
Fortunately for Salgant, although he was not as excellent a warrior as Duilin was, despite being older and possessing more experience, he was strong. Although his strength did not match Lord Rog’s, it easily surpassed that of Duilin’s, and his movements, although not as fast, were fluid. However, soon it would be noted that this was not enough

***

The two Lords unsheathed their swords and after saluting lightly with their weapons, put themselves on guard. As a rule, Duilin waited for his opponent to attack in order to observe him and know his weaknesses: it was a tactic he had learned from Lord Ecthelion. But this time was different.  
No sooner had Salgant put himself on guard then Duilin attacked. The speed that distinguished the Swallow made him only a blur before Salgant’s eyes. He leaped back, Duilin’s blade passing inches from his chest.  
Perhaps the Lord of the Harp was not outstanding in the art of sword-play, but he possessed enough equanimity to parry the hailstorm of blows raining down on him. Using his strength more than his skill, he forced Duilin to retreat, and with a sudden blow, almost disarmed the Swallow.   
Seeing that Salgant was willing to use his force against him, Duilin took a leap backward and then he launched an attack. His legs opened wide as his armed arm extended, its tip threatening his opponent's chest.  
The Lord of the House of the Harp fathomed the attack and instantly tried to stop the thrust, but his sword met the air, for, in the blink of an eye, Duilin crouched, then sprung, launching a terrible thrust at the tasseled Lord.   
Salgant hardly had time to stop his enemy’s attack. Their weapons were now locked together above his head, their faces a mere hairsbreadth apart. But that was not the intention of the Swallow. Before Salgant could react; Duilin slid his sword down his opponent's blade and tore Salgant's clothes along the left clavicle.   
Salgant gave a short cry of disbelief: Duilin had wounded him. He looked into the other’s eyes and saw a blazing fury in the pale blue.   
The three onlookers had already hurried to where the duel was taking place. All knew that Duilin could at any time make a foolish act that would cost him dearly.   
However, now Duilin was attacking with terrible agility. Although Salgant had a physical strength much greater than that of Duilin, it was utterly useless in the face of his lithe and ferocious attacks. Little by little, Duilin forced him to retreat, and a cold sweat covered Salgant's forehead. The look on Duilin's face could terrify even the bravest heart.   
The Lord had received several thrusts that had ripped his rich clothes, but had they been deeper, would have gravely injured him. Finally, Duilin again lunged at him, with his blade angled at Salgant’s chest. Salgant tried to stop him, already prepared in case his opponent feinted and attacked him from another angle; but what Duilin did left him stunned. Passing by him, Duilin threw three quick thrusts: one to the chest, another at the head and another, at the back. Salgant parried the first two but seeing he could not stop the third, turned quickly to face Duilin. But when he turned, Duilin pushed him, and Salgant stumbled and fell heavily upon his back. Although Salgant was well-nigh defeated, Duilin did not stop, instead, attacked him more savagely. Lord Salgant gasped at such ferocity: parrying only a few blows before Duilin disarmed him, twisting the other’s wrist.   
"You win, Lord Duilin!" He exclaimed.  
But it seemed that he did not hear, or he did not want to hear, and it seemed he was ready to strike the killing blow when a scimitar intercepted Duilin’s sword.   
"Enough, Duilin!" Lord Egalmoth ordered. “You have won: cease this folly!”   
Duilin did not answer. He stood looking at Salgant, as one would look at a groveling worm, and then spun upon Egalmoth. Egalmoth stopped his blows without trouble: he was much faster than Lord Salgant and had a greater presence of mind. But before Duilin could do aught else, two great arms surrounded him, entrapping his arms.   
"Let me go!" He shouted in rage, trying in vain to free himself.  
"No. Not until you calm yourself.” Lord Rog answered coldly. Duilin’s violent attempts were as a feather-brush for the mighty Noldo.   
Egalmoth raised his curved sword to Duilin’s throat, looking down the blade at his friend with steely eyes.   
“Give me your sword, Duilin.”   
Duilin looked at him for a moment, his teeth clenched. He knew that he did not have the slightest chance of freeing himself; he knew that although Lord Egalmoth was of a mild nature and was his best friend, he would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to stop him; and there was also Lord Penlod who had helped Lord Salgant stand and had returned his sword. Finally, he released his blade. Egalmoth kicked it away, and then made a gesture to Rog, who released Duilin.   
"Are you well, Lord Salgant?" asked Penlod quietly. The black and tasseled garb of the other was in tatters.   
"Yes, Lord Penlod. You are very kind, unlike others," he replied, with a cold glare at Duilin, who only stared at him, and then left.   
When he had gone, Egalmoth spun angrily on his friend. "What were you thinking, Duilin!”   
"He was not thinking," Rog replied, his deep voice heavy with irony.   
“Look who is saying it!” Duilin jeered.   
Rog frowned, a look of displeasure in his fierce brown eyes. He was not known for his tranquility, but he knew how to control himself, something brought on in part by age, for after Lord Ecthelion, he was the oldest and most experienced Lord.  
"Be careful with your words, young one," he answered quietly.   
Duilin looked at him, his eyes still bright from fury, but he did not answer. He knew what could happen if he dared to say one more word about it.   
"Duilin, what is it?" Penlod asked at that moment. Among the three that surrounded him, he was the most peaceful. “You have foisted your ill manners upon us for two weeks, and now, you have hurt Lord Salgant. Certainly, you are quick-tempered and hot-headed, but you have never been violent before. What troubles you?”   
Duilin met the expectant looks of the other Lords. He knew they would listen to him, and were willing to help, principally Penlod and Egalmoth, who were his dearest friends….but how could he tell them what was really troubling him? What would they think of him if they knew that a maiden had been consuming his mind for two weeks? They would mock him, moreover since he was known to mock sentimentality and now ... he was the victim of it! And what he needed least was derision. He looked at them for a minute, and then said dryly, "My sword.”   
Egalmoth looked at him: waiting for an answer, not an order. But Lord Duilin did not care. "My sword," he repeated.  
Egalmoth knew his closest friend well and knew he was stubborn, and it was near impossible to change his mind. If he opposed Duilin, the only thing that would occur was a heated argument that could end poorly.   
"Promise me that you will harm none, nor fight a duel,” he said, locking Duilin’s gaze. “Promise, Duilin, or I will take you, along with your sword to the King’s presence so that you explain what has happened.”   
Duilin looked at him coldly. He hated to be threatened, but there was no other solution but to comply. “Very well.”   
Egalmoth held out the sword, which Duilin snatched away, and sheathing it, left without a word.   
"I have never seen Duilin like this," remarked Penlod after a moment of bewildered silence. “I never thought he would behave so violently in a friendly duel.”   
"For him, it was no longer friendly" answered Rog answered. “His temper clouded his mind.”   
"So it is.” Egalmoth frowned. “I wonder what caused it.”   
He shared a glance with Penlod. Not one of them had the faintest notion.

***

Lord Duilin’s POV

‘In the name of Utumno, what is possessing me! Penlod was right: but he accused me as if I were guilty.   
The culprit is Salgant. Válar, he is blind and fickle, and now I have fought with him, I know he is not worthy to be a Lord!  
But….I fall into the same net as he does. My behavior was not lordly at all. If Turukanò hears of it, he will punish me like Glorfindel, and justly too.   
Oh, Válar! What is happening to me? I feel that at any moment I will go mad! Every moment I see Elyéta and hear her voice. She is in my mind at all the time, and no one……nothing can rid me of her! I want her gone, but I want her here, with me. I am weak, weak and mad, so easily swayed that a pair of grey eyes and a head of black hair can turn me into this.   
As much I want to see, I will not. She was so ashamed when she was apologizing, seeing me will only make her remember it. What she does not realize is that for me that is was the most beautiful moment in my life!   
I am intoxicated…..as if her voice were strong wine, so strong even the memory makes me giddy.  
What is this? What am I doing here? Why did I come to the Alley of Roses? It makes no sense, it is the longest route to the Swallow-House.   
Oh, Válar! She is here! It seems that everything is coming together against me to see her again.   
Ah! How beautiful she is! I wish I could look at her forever, memorize every detail of her lovely face.   
No, all my limbs refuse to listen to me when I say I will only pass her by. I want to talk to her but ... I do not know what to say! Oh, Válar! And now I am here….. What do I do?'

***

Elyéta’s POV

'Ah! I do not know what is happening to me! I cannot stop thinking of Lord Duilin. My first thought whenever I see the dawn is of him, and when the stars come out, it is still home. Whenever it is night, seem to see him once more in front of me, his graceful demeanor, his long hair braided with those feathers as white as his heart. I do not know why I think that when I know he has the reputation of being a quick temper. Maybe because he was so kind to me.   
Oh! How I wish I could relive that moment I touched his hand! That great silence fretted with magic and beauty. Beautiful…….oh yes, so beautiful! And I would give anything to have that again.   
But to him, I do not exist. I am only one more inhabitant of the city: he has forgotten me, forgotten my name  
But I have not. I cannot, and I do not want to forget him! I know that he is a Lord and I am neither beautiful nor of illustrious or noble blood.   
When I think of it, I feel so dejected, as if wistfulness and sadness are gnawing at my fëa. But I encourage myself and Ardyl is there, and his cheerful chirping brightens my day. He has stayed with me all the time I sketched that feather and painted it too.   
I know it’s foolish, and I am acting like a dreamer. Linwe told me I was humming while painting, and my face seemed to be in the middle of a sweet dream. Maybe it was true ... I do not remember it, what I do remember is that every brushstroke I gave when I was painting, was for me to remember the feeling I had when I looked at him and touched his hand.  
Elyéta, look around you! Why are you in the Alley of Roses. This is the longest road to go to the palace! And it so busy……I do not like the hustle and bustle. I’m not used to socializing: although Linwe insists I need it.   
Oh! Válar! He is here! Oh, why, why, why!! Now he will think that I am following him! No, I have to go before…….it’s too late, he has seen me.   
Oh, Válar! What do I do, what do I do?! Válar, help me! I must leave…but ... but I cannot! I cannot! My feet refuse to move! His blue eyes have mesmerized me, and his elegant demeanor has captivated me! What do I do? I do not want to seem like a fool again because surely that is the concept he has of me: a clumsy and senseless maid, who is not able to speak intelligibly.  
Aì! He is approaching me! What do I do? What do I say? The only thing I can do is look at him! I feel so weak….

***

"Elyéta?" Duilin asked eagerly: How silver-sweet her name sounded! He darted a glance at her: her hair was dark, so her eyebrows, and the long lashes that curled up from her great grey eyes. With her skin as pale as cream, their duskiness took on an added beauty, and nothing could rob her face of its individuality and suggestion of charm.   
She nodded, and swallowed several times, blushing. "Yes, my lord. I am Elyéta. At your service.” she said, dipping a small curtsey and keeping her eyes on the ground. Every time she met his gaze, she lost everything. All she could see was the blue, keen eyes.   
"I am glad to see you again," he said without thinking. His words rushed from his heart and spent no time being weighed on the scale of his mind. He only spoke what his heart wanted to speak.   
Elyéta raised her head sharply, her eyes shining.   
'Ah! He remembers my name! And he said he was glad to see me again!’ Elyéta thought excitedly, her heart beating with restless delight.   
"I ... I ... likewise, my lord," she answered, stuttering.   
There was a silence that hung between them. She was afraid of doing something foolish: he had no clue of what to say, but he was frantic to stay by her side.   
'Oh, be merciful, Válar! What do I tell her? Will it be possible that I will not be able to look her in the eye and talk with her?! I longed to see her and now that I'm here with her ... I do not know what to tell her!’ he thought angrily.   
"It is a beautiful day.” He broke the silence uncomfortably, as for the first time in his life, he did not know what to say.   
"Oh, yes! Yes, it is," she answered without daring to add more. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her hands were folded behind her back, and she began to rock slightly back and forth on her heels.  
'Ah, what a dullard I am! As if she was the first maiden I’ve ever spoken with! And now ... now I've made her nervous! Oh, Valar! What do I do?!' he pleaded inwardly.   
'I'm so clumsy!' Elyéta thought miserably. 'I do not know what to say. Surely, he must be thinking that I am a fool. I am only reaffirming the terrible impression he has of me! I must leave.’   
" I think I am interrupting you in your duties and making you waste your time. And well ... I think ... well ... I think ... well ..... I should go," she said as a disquiet entered her heart. “May you have a blessed day, my lord, "she said as she bowed her head so he would not see the sudden cloud of sadness in her eyes.   
And she was leaving when Lord Duilin's voice stopped her. "Ah……pardon my curiosity. Where are you are going…..if it is not prying?” he asked, trying desperately to find a way to stop her from leaving.   
Elyéta blushed and looked down again, folding her hand in front of her this time. "I was going ... I was going to the palace, my lord. I must collect my painting supplies and take them back to my house……because the Princess asked her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone today. And besides, I must feed Ardyl. He will surely miss me if I do not greet him and…..” She stopped when she saw the Elf-lord smiling at her. “Oh! I am sorry! I'm rambling! That was not what you asked me!” Her cheeks burned, and her fingers clenched each other nervously. “Yes. I go to the palace.”   
"I ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat before daring to ask the question. "Would you allow me to escort you ?" His heart beating against his chest like a caged hawk.   
"Ah ... where?" She asked.   
He raised a surprised eyebrow. "To the palace. You told me you were going to the palace "  
Elyéta blushed further. "Oh, yes! The palace!” she exclaimed, her tone vague as she met his eyes. 'Ah! How handsome he is! How noble and graceful!’ She could not help but sigh inwardly.   
"Is something wrong?" He asked, confused at her stare. Elyéta shook her head and quickly lowered her head as she began to rock back and forth on her heels.  
"Then ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat again. It was a way to give himself courage. "Would you allow me to escort you to the palace?"  
Elyéta finally seemed to come out of her dreamy state. "Um ... yes ... if you want to ..." she said, without moving until the Elf-lord told her,  
"So, shall we go?”   
"Ah ... yes ... we should go," she stammered and resumed her way to the palace.

***

Turgon gazed at the council-table thoughtfully, watching the silver snake its way through the blue marble, the table where he and his loyal Lords sat to make the decisions concerning the safety of Gondolin.   
Each of them had a different temper, and he considered the variety excellent, for they complemented each other and, in this way, he gave him different perspectives on a single situation, thus allowing him to make the most suitable decision. A mistaken choice could prove disastrous in dangerous days like these.   
But now, the problem that had arisen had not come from outside, but from within, from his own family.  
The argument he had with his daughter, with his Itarillë, that morning, was still echoing in his ears, and the terrible words that his beloved daughter hurled at him: 'And I never believed that my father would not defend me from my enemy', was for him more lacerating than any Orco weapon, however, poisoned it might be. He would never have imagined that his beloved child, his dear Itarillë, would be able to say such words. He knew he had hurt her, he knew her well and he knew that when she wanted to be alone it was because something had greatly disturbed her.  
Aye, he had been severe…but what else to do? He could not be lenient when she mistreated Maeglin such a way? Maeglin, the son of his sister, of gallant, daring Irissë.   
No, it should not have been possible that Itarillë so mistreated Maeglin, and even less that she would raise such a falsehood against him. Maeglin had the desire to ... to ... to rape her?! That, at least, was not possible! That was against all the laws of the Eldar, that went against their nature. Maeglin was not able to do such a thing.   
He had seen the argument that had happened that night between the cousins. Itarillë had been angry with Maeglin, had made him beg, beg her to accept the gift he had made. And as if that was not enough, she had rebuked, mistreated and humiliated him! That must be punished, but he loved his daughter desperately and wanted no breach in their relationship.   
He had remembered the words of Itarillë. She told him that many times she had had to ask for help from the Elf-lords, flee to them so that Maeglin would leave her alone. If such a thing was true ... why had not his Lords told him so? He did not believe that his Itarillë was lying to him, but he must know the truth. And if it was true, why had not anyone told him anything? But ... whom to ask? All of them were wise in one way or another. Even Lord Duilin, despite his quick temper and rashness, was strategically wise and his advice was useful. However, this time he needed someone who was wise, experienced and who would not take sides, who was completely evenhanded.   
There was only one: Lord Ecthelion. The Lord of the House of the Fountains was the oldest of all the Elf-lords, nearly the age of the King, and they had been companions before Turgon ever entered his birthright. His nature was peaceful and reflective, he always thought before acting. He had been the only one who had been able to maintain, from the beginning, an acceptable relationship with the firíma they housed.   
Yes, Lord Ecthelion had been able to endure her mistreatment and even stop his friend from doing something foolish due to her jeers.   
But there was Maeglin too. The Lord of the Mole had not only been able to have a passable relationship with Hwa-Young but had also been able to get into a conversation with her; something that the wise Lord of the Fountains had not achieved. That was part of the reason he thought Itarillë was wrong.  
However, it was always wise to see other’s perspectives, and the best choice was Ecthelion. Ah, if only Elenwë was not with him! As the North Star guides the traveler at night so Elenwë was for Turgon ... his North Star, whom he swung too like a lodestone to the North. But since such a thing could not be, then he would seek the answer and perhaps counsel in his wise and faithful friend.

***  
"You called for me, my lord?" said clear voice behind him.   
The King, who was so immersed in his thoughts, had not noticed that the Lord of the House of the Fountains was there, standing behind him at a respectful distance. Turgon turned. “That is so.”   
"How can I serve you, my Lord?" he asked, bowing.   
Turgon studied him for a minute, measuring the Lord of the Fountains.   
There was no doubt Ecthelion had the demeanor of an Elf-lord. He walked with his head erect and his step firm. His silver eyes were insightful and although he was not as sharp-eyed as Duilin, both wisdom and intelligence could be read in them. His manner of dueling illustrated his manner of thinking: before attacking, he measured the opponent, studied each movement, and looked for both the weak points and then strengths, and then attacked with quick precision. His patience was also evident in his love of one of the fine arts: Music. Before being the best lutist in Gondolin, he had practiced and studied for hours, until finally, he had achieved mastery playing not only the flute but also the harp and the lyre. Certainly, his innate ability had helped him, but it had been practicing until he was now considered outstanding in Music. Truly, Ecthelion combined in his character the courage, strength, and strategy of a true warrior; with the patience, perception, kindness, and elegance of a one of high nobility.  
"Today ... I talked at length with my daughter." Turgon began hesitatingly. “And it was a strange matter that emerged in the conversation she and I held.”  
Lord Ecthelion studied his King attentively, without understanding why he was told such a thing. The conversations held between the Princess and her father was no one’s concern but theirs. But perhaps he needed advice. Raising a daughter was no easy task. Ecthelion hoped he had enough wisdom to be able to support his Lord in this delicate matter.   
"She told me that her cousin, Lord Maeglin, follows her throughout the city, as if he were her own shadow," Turgon continued after a minute and fixed his eyes on Ecthelion, who instantly became vigilant. He knew the king's opinion of his nephew, and his response needed to be measured. "Is this true?"  
"Yes, my King. At least that's what I've seen with my own eyes,” he replied slowly. “I cannot speak for the other Lords," he added. It was better not to answer for everyone. Some of the Lords, such as Lord Rog and, above all, Lord Duilin, were not kind to Lord Maeglin; and taking the blame for others was not necessarily wise.   
"And what do you do when Idril seeks your help? Or do you run to her aid?” Turgon asked, with a calculating look.   
"No, she seeks our help. As for what we do, it is what the Princess asks us to do "  
"Which is?"  
"Let us accompany her somewhere, or escort her back to the palace. Usually, those are her orders,” Ecthelion answered slowly: although his answer was not entirely true.   
He and Glorfindel were the two people that the Celebrindal trusted the most after her father, and she asked these for help when the Mole hounded her. They had listened and tried to assuage her desperation and anger.   
Many times, Idril had told him with tears in her eyes how disturbed she was over her cousin: how angry that her father did nothing, and her explanations about what was truly happening had only brought down his ire on her head. Lord Ecthelion did not answer, just listened to her, which was really what the Silverfoot needed; she did not need advice or consolation, she just needed who understood her, and she knew that the wise Lord of the House of the Fountains understood her completely, for nobody knew Lord Maeglin better than Ecthelion or Glorfindel himself. nobody better than him or Lord Glorfindel knew Lord Maeglin. Of all known, they had been largely the reason why the Huntress Princess had been snared in the Dark Forest. t  
How many times Ecthelion had wished to tell Turgon what was happening! Perhaps when listening to another voice that confirmed what the Princess said, the King would finally understand. But ... he had been unable to for the Celebrindal had asked him not to tell her father: knowing that Ecthelion would be punished for daring to speak against Maeglin. Turgon as protected his daughter of any danger and even any word said against her, and he did the same but, to a greater extent, with Lord Maeglin. It was his way of redeeming himself, to love his sister's son.  
"And has she ever told you why she asks for your help?" The King continued, his eyes measuring the responses of his loyal Elf-lord, seeking the truth in them.  
Steeling himself, Ecthelion continued evenly. "She tells us only that she wants Lord Maeglin to leave her alone.”   
"And has she told you why she thinks he's looking for her all the time?"  
"No, my lord.” Another lie. It was better to protect the Princess. If the king knew that his daughter had told Lord Glorfindel and himself, and perhaps another what she thought, surely the Celebrindal would find herself in a difficulty over even her golden head. As for them? Turgon would be unhappy because they listened to her, but nothing more. So, it was indispensable to protect the young Princess at all costs, even if it meant having to lie to his lord.  
The king stared at the Lord of the Fountains for a long time, before asking the most dangerous question of all.  
"And tell me, Lord Ecthelion, what do you think of my nephew?"  
"That he is a Lord endowed with a great ability to forge metal like no one among all the Noldor. Despite his youth, he is very wise; is a brave warrior and worthy Lord of Gondolin.”   
Turgon raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he did not believe Ecthelion's answer.   
"I already know that," he said dryly. "What I want to know is YOUR opinion, not what I already know about him.”   
Ecthelion flinched imperceptibly. Here it was, the brazen confrontation. There was no finesse he could use to get away from the question.   
"Permission to speak freely, my lord," he said finally.  
"Speak.”   
Ecthelion said nothing for a moment, mindful of his dangerous position, and then said at last. "What I have said about him was something I truly believe. He is gifted in the things of Aulë, and I admire his skill. However, I also have to add that Lord Maeglin disdains us all. We try to approach him, we invite him to be one of us, and his response is always cold and abrupt. It is true that he follows the Silverfoot as faithfully as her own shadow, nor do her requests for him to leave have any weight. He is wise for one so young, and once again, it is something I admire in him, but……my Lord, he has too much influence in the Council. His youth and inexperience could lead him to give unsound advice. I do not ask my Lord to listen solely to the other Elf-lords, but I certainly think that perhaps you should allow their advice to have the same weight as that of the Prince. It would allow you to reign ever wiser than you already govern. As for the situation raised by the Princess, if I am allowed to advise, I think it would be an excellent idea to talk to her and inquire more. If the Celebrindal says repeatedly that Lord Maeglin seeks her and follows her throughout Gondolin, there must be some reason. The old proverb holds true, my Lord: 'if the river sounds, it is because it carries water.’"  
The King’s face was a stone mask, but his words overflowed with great anger, so great that even Ecthelion, accustomed to his moods and power, stepped a pace back.   
"How can you talk that way about my nephew!" he cried. “I am amazed at the freedom with which you slander Maeglin, my Lord I Ecthelion! I decided to speak with you thinking that because of your wisdom is known to all, and your temper, you would be impartial ... and behold, I see that you still hold an hostility towards your Prince! " He paused, and shot the most terrible shaft, that shaft that had rankled in his heart and caused him to hold a silent grudge against Glorfindel and Ecthelion." Do you forget that it is because of you and Lord Glorfindel that my sister was lost? Do you forget that, because of your mistake, the Dark Elf Eöl seized my sister and that Lord Maeglin was born of that terrible union? Do you forget the sad state my nephew is living? You know well why he does not live here, in the palace, because in all the city there is gossip and calumnies spoken against him! Do not think I am ignorant of it! And now, I realize that you are one of them! That you also hate him, even though it was through you Maeglin was born! You should hold some responsibility to him: try to redeem yourself towards him and in that way expiate the sin you did towards his mother!”   
"I acknowledge my mistake as to what happened to Princess Írissë,” replied Ecthelion, struggling to handle the King’s wrath. The accusations that Turgon raised against him, were so great and terrible he felt crushed under their weight. "But I am not part of the people who have given epithets to your nephew, my lord. Despite his sharpness, I try to show kindness to him.”   
"I know that my nephew is not the most vivacious person in Gondolin, but he certainly does not have ill manners. He has always been kind to me. Why then with you is not he?” Turgon replied darkly.   
"If I may remind you, my lord, you are his uncle and in addition the king whom he serves. I would not be surprised in the least that he is kind to you .”   
The High King of the Noldor looked at him for a moment: a terrible light in his eyes. "How is that possible, Lord Ecthelion?" He said coldly.  
"You asked me to tell the truth and I told it, my lord." the Lord of the Fountains answered calmly.   
Turgon turned abruptly away from him, suffering from an emotion far deeper than he cared to acknowledge. He stared for a long time at the throne where he sat during each Council. "You said that 'if the river sounds, it's because it carries water,’” he said after a few silent minutes. “And you are right." He turned to Ecthelion, regaining control of himself and announced with a forced decision and a studied coldness, which Ecthelion knew to be the cloak used to hide grief, fear, and anger. “Summon the Lords of Gondolin for a Council.”   
"Yes, my lord," Ecthelion replied, bowing.   
Turgon’s brief nod was enough to dismiss him. 

***

Rog was intently watching the duel between Penlod and Egalmoth.  
Once Duilin had left, Lord Penlod and Lord Egalmoth had decided to engage in a friendly duel. Whoever won in that contest, would fight against him.  
It had been a few of hours since the two began. Both had great skill and speed and were evenly matched. Although Egalmoth’s curved sword had confused Penlod in the beginning, Penlod was adaptable and had learned how to take advantage of it.   
A calm, controlled voice made Rog turn. "Ah! Ecthelion!” he exclaimed. “Are you coming to keep us company? "  
"No,” Ecthelion answered. “I came to tell you that the king has summoned us for a Council."  
Rog frowned in surprise. "Has something happened?" He asked. "Something threatens the city?"  
"No" replied Lord Ecthelion, a glimmer of anger in his grey eyes. “He wishes to talk to us concerning the Prince.”   
Upon hearing this, Rog made a fleeting expression of displeasure. He was one of the Lord who most disliked the Lord of the House of Mole. And it was not because the young Lord had such an unkind and closed temperament, but he knew that the Mole was unreliable, and this was made manifest by the way he dogged the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin. There was only one reason why a male hounded a female, and it was by no means a noble thing. "What of Lord Maeglin?" He asked after a moment.  
"I do not know. Tell them that it is necessary that they go to the Council right now,” Ecthelion added abruptly, clearly wishing to add the conversation. “Where is Duilin?”   
"I do not know, but I have to warn you that he is not in a cheerful mood.”   
"I know. He has not been these last two weeks.”   
"It's true," Rog admitted, "But today he is in a worse mood than the other days. Lord Salgant can tell you.”   
"What happened?"   
Rog laughed huskily. “Let us be content with saying Duilin fought Salgant without a shred of mercy. You can guess the result.”   
Ecthelion nodded slowly. "I will go and look for him: we must be gathered as soon as possible. The King is not cheerful either.”   
"I'll go look for him," broke in another voice.  
Both Lords turned. It was Egalmoth.   
"I'll go look for him," he repeated as he sheathed his curved sword, legendary among all the Noldor, for there was none like it.  
Ecthelion nodded. "I will search for Galdor and Salgant.”   
And without further ado, he turned around and walked quickly in search of the last two Lords.   
***

Elyéta’s POV

'Oh! How can something be so wonderful and at the same time so sad? Lord Duilin is escorting me to the palace! This is something I never imagined. He remembers me, he remembers my name. He says he's happy to see me again and even offered to escort me. There is no word to describe how wonderful it is!   
But at the same time, it is so sad! We have walked to the palace and I have not been able to address a single word to each other! He was kind enough to accompany me, and I ... I am not able to be a good companion for him.   
Oh! Elyéta! Sometimes you are not only more than clumsy…..you are pathetic too! You are so childish, and now Lord Duilin will regret walking with you.   
Ah! Why are you like that, Elyéta? Why are you so clumsy just when you should be lively, smiling and witty? How sad this is! He will never speak to me again, and even less, accompany me. Once again, his opinion about me as a mindless nissë has been proven!  
We have arrived at the palace! What do I tell him? What do I do?'

***

Lord Duilin’s POV

'I hate myself! Yes, I hate myself! I have not been able to talk to her! I have not said a single word: a mute, mindless fool! I have always been agile in mind and word and now ... now that I must be is when I am not.   
What will she think of me? Surely, she must think that, because I am a Lord, it is that I do not deign to speak with her. I Surely, she thinks that I see her with scorn for being one of the common people….and nothing is further from my mind!  
For me, I do not care if she is not of the nobility. For me, Elyéta is different. She is beautiful both in mind and body; and I prefer a thousand times over to be in her company, then be with a high-ranking Lady.   
That is why I offered to escort her to the palace, to be able to talk to her, but here I have not been able to open my mouth. The only thing I've been able to do is to admire her grace. She may not have the same level of grace as the Silverfoot, but undoubtedly Elyéta is graceful, elegant and beautiful.  
I do not want her to think that I consider her below me, but ... I do not know what to say! Every time I see her beautiful eyes, I lose myself in them and forget all else! Válar! I even forget who I am! Now that we have arrived at the palace, I do not know what to say to her; I do not want to say farewell! 

***

Elyéta turned around, the hot blood blooming in her cheeks. She glanced out under her lashes at him, before crossing her hands under her back and rocking back and forth, an unmistakable sign she was nervous.  
Lord Duilin returned her look. His blue eyes never tired of admiring her, he could have stayed there the rest of eternity.  
'She is so beautiful! Yes, boast of your Finduilas and Lúthien and Idril…..none are as beautiful as Elyéta!’ Thought Lord Duilin, as his heart beat, but he found a sweet cadence there like never before.  
"Thank you very much for escorting me," she said timidly. "It has been a great honor for me, that the Swallow would do such.”   
Duilin smiled. "The honor has been mine, Elyéta," he said. Her name was so sweet: he loved being able to say it.  
She blushed intensely and for the first time smiled at him, a timid, childish smile that sparkled in her eyes and danced around her mouth timidly. A smile that the Elf-lord loved, a smile that would never disappear from his mind and heart, even at the moment of his death.  
They looked at each other in silence. It seemed that the world had slowly stopped until it froze at the moment they stood in, a moment that had become eternal.   
‘He is so handsome and so generous and so brave!’ Elyéta thought wistfully. ‘You should not waste your time with me: I’m not worthy of your escort. You shouldn’t even talk to me, for I am so awkward. But there is no one like you. No, there is no one in the whole world like you, my lord! '  
"Ah....maybe on some other occasion we can ... well… talk for a few moments", Duilin suggested hesitatingly.   
Elyéta nodded several times and smiled eagerly. "It would be an honor, my lord," she murmured.  
The Elf-lord smiled and once again, both fell into that strange charm, the silence that drank away their voices in echoless repose, a dream-like silence, as the twilight grew above them.   
Someone cleared his throat a few steps away from them, breaking the silence. Both turning sharply, seeing Lord Egalmoth, who was studying the architecture of a pillar.   
Seeing this, Duilin could not help but blush, while Elyéta also blushed and looked down, catching a glimpse of Duilin’s flushed face.   
'Ah! He's adorable! ' She thought, stifling a laugh at his confusion.   
Egalmoth bowed to both. “A thousand apologies for interrupting, but the King has summoned you, Lord Duilin, to a Council meeting  
"Yes, yes ... ah ..... have a blessed evening, my lords." Elyéta said, nodding nervously.  
"May you have a blessed evening," Egalmoth replied, bowing his head in greeting.  
Lord Duilin could not answer with words, but his involuntary and beautiful smile said it all.  
Elyéta bowed and walked away quickly.  
Duilin watched her until she disappeared around a byway. 'How beautiful she is! '  
The voice of his best friend dragged him out of the dream. "Duilin, we have to go. You will talk to her another day "  
The quick-tempered Elf turned sharply upon Egalmoth, who looked at him meaningfully.   
"Do not dare mention to any other!" he growled.   
Egalmoth smiled, having no concerns over his friend's threatening tone. "It's not going to be necessary for me to say it. You will say it yourself. Love is something that cannot be hidden, I tell you from experience.” he answered. “Now, let's go, the king is waiting for us "


	22. Wise counsels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we'll see the two different forms that the future lovers of each Elf-lord behaves in order to help them after a not so nice moment with the king.

Chapter 22: Wise Counsels 

By the time Lord Duilin and Lord Egalmoth reached the Council Room, all other Lords were present, save Lord Maeglin and the King.  
Each had taken their respective place, and the room was full of murmurs, surmising why the King had summoned them to a Council so untimely.

***

"He wishes to talk to us concerning Lord Maeglin?” Galdor inquired, looking at Lord Ecthelion.   
The Lord of the Fountains had told them in broad strokes what had occurred during his audience with the High King, before Lord Salgant, arrived, for it was well known that the Lord of the House of the Harp was a great admirer of Turgon’s nephew.  
Ecthelion cast a warning glance towards Salgant, who had entered, but Galdor’s words were already spoken and the tasseled Lord had heard. Seeing this, Ecthelion answered deftly, “It is likely, but I can say nothing with certainty.”   
Salgant raised an eyebrow. Both Ecthelion and quick-eyed Duilin noted this.   
The young Swallow was tense, his senses as sharp as if was about to enter a confrontation. He disliked Maeglin the most, and his quick temper, combined with the realization of what had been happening and the King’s impotence in that matter sparked his anger, as weakness always did. And, therefore, Lord Salgant was not one of his favorite companions either.  
'If the king asks me about Lord Maeglin, I will defend him and plead for him,' decided the Lord of the Harp resolutely, turning his gaze from silvered Ecthelion and glancing around the table at other, familiar faces.   
"If this Council does centers on Maeglin--considering what the King said to you--we will not have many opportunities to speak," Glorfindel murmured to his dearest friend. “He already blames us for why his nephew is orphaned.”   
"It's because we are to blame for what happened, Glorfindel. Whether we like it or no, that makes it no less true,” Ecthelion sighed, recalling the tragedy that had happened less the two centuries ago. “Our hand was played out well before this council.”   
"I give you that, but Lord Maeglin has not had such an unenviable life as the King chooses to believe,” retorted Glorfindel, resentment latent in his voice. “And what is unenviable is mostly of his own making.”   
The Lord of the Fountain shook his head in commiseration.  
"If it does concern Maeglin, nothing good is to expected," muttered Lord Rog. He was, besides Duilin, liked the young Prince the least. Being among the eldest of the Lords, it was sickening to him to see the Princess hounded by her own cousin.  
"We can guarantee nothing," answered Penlod, trying to reassure Rog, although his own face was quietly troubled. “It may be something else altogether.”   
“Then why has not Maeglin arrived. He is always the first!” retorted Rog.   
Galdor, ever the peace-keeper, answered in the soft voice peculiar to him. “Perhaps he is in his forge, and his work is too delicate to be interrupted. He spends many hours working there.” The Lord of the House of the Tree did not like Lord Maeglin but made an effort to be friendly.  
Duilin snorted. "A long time in his forge?" he mocked. "I would rather say that a long time dogging the Celebrindal-”   
An inconspicuous, although forceful nudge from Egalmoth arrested the hot-headed Elf’s words.   
Turgon entered the Council-Chamber, wearing all the regalia of Gondolin’s High-King, no less a King than his father before him. He wore robes of white, belted with gold, and a crown of garnets glittered in his black hair. In his right hand, he held the Staff of Doom, and Glamdring was in his belt, white and gold in its ruel-bone sheath. Rare was the warrior who could face the King. Indeed, a deadly Lord he looked, his slender height emphasized in his tense posture.   
In his clear eyes was a keen light like the flash of lightning: his face was calm, but it was clear it was the façade of calm before the storm is unleashed. 

***

Turgon’s POV

'I cannot believe what Maeglin told me! And yet, I know that that is the truth: how can I but trust him? He is wise, despite his youth, and has a distaste for duplicity, like his mother. His loyalty to me and to this city is unwavering. Not even the Unnamed One himself would be able to break that loyalty towards Gondolin ... towards me! Maeglin would sooner die than betray us, and his wisdom exceeds the number of his years. Ah, I doubt if even little Itarillë is as wise as he!  
And now ... I see my Lords assembled, looking at me with questions in their eyes, and wish to answer their question by asking them one. Why would they treat the High-Prince so? These Lords who pride themselves on wisdom and skill cannot realize the truth.   
Yet, I am a King. A just one? A wise one? That is yet to be seen. But I try to the utmost, and to be wise, I must know both sides of the conflict. That is what Elenwë taught me. She would listen to these Lords, despite her anger, and let them explain their mistakes.   
And they will.’ 

***

As the High King entered the Council Room, the murmur died, as if he was the wind blowing the candle out.   
As he moved towards his throne, all could see that by the brightness of his eyes and the rigid expression on his face, he was angered beyond reason.   
He sat, his eyes piercing their faces, searching their thoughts with meticulous precision. They returned his gaze, waiting for him to break the silence.   
Still, he drew it on, lingering on it, choosing words and watching reactions.   
"As I said earlier to Lord Ecthelion," he began at last. “I talked at length with the Princess this morning, and I learned of a concern of hers, that also became mine, though for different reasons. "He paused." Is it then true? Has my daughter has asked for your aid because her cousin, my sister-son, hounds her?”   
His gray, insightful eyes locked for a moment on each of the Lords, demanding an answer and challenging the silent that lay thick in the room.   
Turgon had already made his judgment beforehand. That was clear, as he spoke of Maeglin as his sister-son, and the Lords knew it.   
Rog spoke first: breaking the stillness with his deep voice. “It is true, my Lord. The Princess has asked for my assistance several times.”   
“She has asked all of us,” seconded Lord Penlod, precise and quiet, as in all matters of import.  
“She did not ask me.”  
The owner of that unwelcome comment was Salgant, now the focus of all eyes. The High King pounced on him. “Why is this?”   
"I do not know, my lord," answered the Lord of the Harp sincerely. "The truth is that the Princess has never been kind enough to ask me to escort her, as it seems she has asked these Lords," he added with a certain bitterness. He felt shunned by the Celebrindal, but did not realize was that the Princess was doing it because she knew the admiration he held for Lord Maeglin.  
“That is, she does not ask for….help, even if my sister-son is with her?”   
“No, my Lord.”   
Anger against Salgant lay overt in the eyes of the other Lords, and the King saw it. Salgant had answered with the words the King had wished to hear and discredited the other Lords by doing so.   
“You say that my daughter runs towards you if Lord Maeglin is in the vicinity?” asked Turgon abruptly, his tone like one cajoling a small child towards the truth.”   
"It is the Princess who asks our help, my lord," Egalmoth replied, "And we obey."  
"That is not what my sister's son told me, Lord Egalmoth," answered the King replied coldly.  
A sharp intake of breath was heard. A lie! And how many had he told Turgon?   
“What did Prince Maeglin say, my Lord?” asked Galdor. It was necessary to know as soon as possible in what territory they were, and whether they should meet the King on his own ground.  
"The contrary, my Lord Galdor," he replied disdainfully. "He avows that you intrude whenever he tries to speak with his cousin.”   
"Such a thing has never happened, my lord!" cried Duilin, vainly trying to keep calm before the slander raised against them. “The Princess asked for help! He says he was talking to you--but, my King, let me differ with you. It is not true. Lord Maeglin hounds your daughter throughout the city, not giving her a moment’s peace.”   
"It seems to me strange, Lord Duilin,” Turgon answered. “My sister-son once again tells me the contrary. You interfere when he tries to strengthen the relationship between her and him.”   
Duilin opened his mouth to rebut the unjust accusation, but Turgon did not let him speak a word.  
"Do not think I am ignorant of your aversion towards my nephew, Lord Duilin. I never speak to you concerning it, but I am well aware of your thoughts of him,” he added, looking at each of the Lords in turn. “You are looking for some mistake, to show he carries the strain of the Dark Elf: but his mother was my sister, the High-Princess Aredhel, and her blood is stronger.”   
Upon hearing this, all Lords were outraged. Surely the King could not believe such things! Certainly, Lord Maeglin was the son of Princess Írissë, but that made him no higher or lower than any of them. What denigrated him in their eyes was how he relentlessly dogged his cousin.   
"If may I allowed to speak, my lord," Lord Glorfindel, trying to still the hot blood shooting through his veins. “Perhaps Lord Maeglin forgot to mention that many times we have invited him to join us, but he has always denied us, in words that are not the epitome of courtesy.”   
" And why are you surprised that he behaves so, Lord Glorfindel? "Turgon demanded. “You and Lord Ecthelion are the reason why he was born in such sad circumstances, lived his first years in darkness; and as if that was not enough for you ... you condemn his ill manners?!" He finished in hardly-constrained fury. “What you do is the least you can do for him! Do not forget the reason he is an orphan--because of your lack of prudence and of courage, my Lords.”   
There was a heavy silence. Lord Glorfindel clenched his teeth: Lord Ecthelion closed his fists until his knuckles were white, trying to contain the anger that had gripped him, as did his young friend.  
They had failed to protect Princess Aredhel, sister of King Turgon, but ... what could they have done? Aredhel and her companions were forced to go northward on being denied passage to Doriath, through the treacherous region of Nan Dungortheb, where they were separated, in the dark shadows and preyed upon by the spawn of Ungoliant. And of all her companions, only Glorfindel and Ecthelion had returned to Gondolin, weary and wounded and heart-sick. Aredhel’s death was not due to a lack of negligence, but because of dark dwimmercraft and pride.   
"Perhaps Lord Maeglin shows a certain ... aversion towards Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion because of this, and perhaps he is right.” intervened Lord Galdor, trying to rid the uncomfortable silence out of sympathy for his suffering fellows. "But neither I nor Lord Penlod had ought to do with this matter and, still, we also are pushed aside. The fault may no longer be found wholly on our side: Lord Maeglin is not willing for our companionship.”   
"My sister-son does not desire the companionship of his fellows, Lord Galdor?” asked the King. His voice was cool and emotionless, save for a trace of irony. He turned on Lord Salgant. “And what of you, my Lord Salgant? I hear you have a good friendship with my nephew, is that not so?”   
"No doubt, my lord," he replied, nodding his head.   
“And how is it you have established relations, while the other Lords cannot……or will not?” Turgon asked.   
It was evident to all his question was a trap: either to trammel Salgant in a lie or leave the other Lords defenseless. The ruse would use Salgant’s response, so once again, Salgant became the cynosure of all eyes.   
"I do not know, my lord. The truth is, though I admit that Prince Maeglin is not the most affable of Elves, he has an agreeable temper and not a few qualities that many of us would like to have," he ended, with a malicious glance at Lord Duilin, who cursed Salgant to the Void and beyond under his breath.   
"And what qualities have you seen in my sister's son, Lord Salgant?" Asked the King, his eyes not on the interlocutor, but observing each of the Elf-lords.  
"He is very wise, my Lord, and has equal skill forging and handling weapons. He is elegant, knowledgeable, brave, and an excellent warrior. At first glance, he appears to be taciturn and aloof, but once he is approached and shown sympathy, he is an excellent friend.” Lord Salgant answered, not realizing that his clumsiness and blindness was bringing gathering woe to his companions.   
"So, do you consider him your friend?" Turgon’s voice was low.   
"That is so, my lord. One whom I admire and love, and of whom I am proud to call my friend."  
"Now, tell me, my Lords," said the High after a few moments. “How is it so that only one among the nine Lords can deal with him? Does it not seem strange to you?”   
"Quite the contrary, my lord," said Lord Rog, in whom a flame of indignation was burning against Salgant, so he wished he had not interfered in the duel between him and Duilin. He was discrediting them before the king. "It does not seem strange at all. Maeglin chooses as friends only those he considers useful. Salgant is no more a friend to him than I am, but he is one who can be manipulated at will."  
Lord Salgant paled before the accusation. A frisson of tension crackled in the room: the atmosphere was charged with amazement at Rog’s mingled audacity and bravery.   
"That is not true!" Salgant cried, bringing his hand down on the marble table. First, he had been defeated in the most humiliating way by Duilin, and now he was accused of being weak by Rog, in front of all the Lords and the king. "I thought you were too honorable to raise such calumnies against me, Lord Rog, but I see that is not true!”   
There was a threatening light in the eyes of the Lord of the House of the Hammer of the Wrath. Salgant held his gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes.   
"So, why did you advocate Lord Maeglin in front of the Princess, when you know that the Princess does not want any meddling in her affairs?” Lord Penlod asked coldly. The Lord of the Two Houses would not stand by and let his dearest friend be insulted. “If I remember correctly,” he continued, his manner chillingly precise. “She rebuked you for your imprudence and interference if I remember right.”   
The Lord of the House of the Harp blushed with shame and anger.  
"Is this true?" Asked the King.   
"That is so, my lord," Lord Penlod replied. It was necessary to undo the damage done as soon as possible "We have never meddled in this matter of the Princess in relation to Lord Maeglin. If we approach, it is because she expressly asks for it. That is not true of Lord Salgant. It is therefore not surprising, then, that the Celebrindal does not ask for assistance from Lord Salgant, for she knows that he would not help her and, on the contrary, would facilitate Lord Maeglin’s companionship.”   
Turgon looked at the Lord of the House of the Harp, who could not answer because of the shame, the indignation, and the anger. Lord Salgant's answers had been disbanded with the timely intervention of Lord Penlod, but it happened just as Lord Ecthelion had foreseen from the beginning: the King had already made a choice.  
"Do you try to shame Lord Salgant?" Said Turgon, addressing Penlod. “May more shame be brought to you, and your companions! You lash out at my sister's son: you who are older and supposed to have more wisdom, but all your prudence put together does not amount to that of my nephew’s! With the exception of Lord Salgant, you spurn him and throw him aside. You believe that because you are older than him you have greater wisdom, but it has often been the advice of my nephew and not yours that has guided me. And, seemingly, such a thing does not please you, so you have taken it against him, eschewing him, reminding him without words of his past life. I cannot believe that such a thing exists in my Council!" he continued, raising his voice, his tone increasingly heated. "I cannot believe it, but I find I must! We are supposed to be of the same mind. And now it turns out that not only Lord Ecthelion, in whom I had placed my hopes of finding wise counsel; but all of you, with the sole and honorable exception of Lord Salgant, have failed me!” Hearing the way, the king referred to him, Lord Ecthelion cursed under his breath: the gentle Lord’s cup of endurance had been filled to the brim. “And from what I see here, Lord Salgant has also been forced to endure your childish and envious behavior! Those who claim to be friendly," He said turning to Galdor, Egalmoth, and Penlod. “You are not friends, you are patronizing him out of compassion. Show true friendship and my sister's son will not react with disfavor! And those who against him because my nephew's state is not the clearest ... " He looked towards Glorfindel and Ecthelion. “You, above all others, should be friendly with him, instead of allying against him. Recognize the qualities of Lord Maeglin, and if my daughter asks for help, make her understand that her cousin does not intend to harm her!”   
"My lord," Glorfindel said, with an unrestrained leap of anger, though Ecthelion had made a discreet signal to keep quiet. “Allow me to explain what seems to have been misunderstood. We do not mistreat Lord Maeglin, and we are aware of our error and what it cost; but if the Princess, your daughter, runs to ask for our help ... is not honorable that as Lords sworn to protect the city, would protect the greatest treasure of Gondolin, that is Idril Silverfoot?”   
"Do not excuse your conduct towards my nephew under that pretext, Lord Glorfindel,” replied the King dryly. "You have certainly sworn eternal loyalty to this city, to me and to my daughter; but that does not give you the right to interfere in matters that are not your concern. Chiefly you, Lord Glorfindel. You are wise and valiant, but are still young and lacking in experience. And not only do not think my words only apply to Lord Glorfindel,” he continued. “I say it to others. Do not dare mistreat my nephew."  
"Then what should we do if the Princess asks for our help, my Lord? "Lord Duilin asked, enraged to see that instead of protecting the Celebrindal, her father was turning against everyone, following the slanders that Lord Maeglin had told him. “Shall we allow Lord Maeglin to hound the Flower of Gondolin, your daughter, though the city? Perhaps we should close our eyes to what could happen? Would that please you more? Is it no more prudent, my Lord, to listen to both sides: to take heed to what Princess Idril says. Truly the Lord of the House of the Mole is your nephew, but the Princess is your daughter, she is also your family and even closer. Listening to her would be the wisest.”   
Anger lit the eyes of the High King of the Noldor. "Measure your words well, Lord Duilin," he said with a coldness that stressed the threat. "Remember too who you swore allegiance. I will ignore this kind of words, once.”   
The Lord of the House of the Swallow was tempted to leave. Rage was forcing its way: clawing and screaming. How was it possible that the king did not realize the immense danger his daughter was in?   
There was an onerous silence, during which Turgon seemed to calm himself and his voice and words were kinder.   
"I know that this has not pleased you in the least: I see it clearly in your faces. Believe me when I say that I did not relish this either. I appreciate all of you; you are the most loyal Lords I have ever known, but remember that the Enemy is very powerful and will do everything in his power to destroy us. A kingdom divided among itself falls soon. I do not want there to be divisions between us. It is true that everyone will make an enemy, but it is up to us to know how to forgive. This has been the only reason that has driven me to address this difficult issue. I do not wish there to be disagreements between you and Lord Maeglin. Certainly, my sister's son is a difficult companion, but no doubt you can make a greater effort to include him among you. I myself have told my daughter to treat him kindly. Now I ask you the same thing.”   
The Elf-lords, with the exception of Lord Salgant, answered in low voices, quivering with anger like plucked harp strings: As you wish, my Lord, my King, echoes filling the room, words that were only words, as meaningful as the wing-whisper of the moth save that they came from those he trusted most.   
The High King looked at them for a moment. He knew that, although they were all angry and felt humiliated: they were all willing to die for him, for his daughter, for the City and its inhabitants. That's why he had been encouraged to reprimand them because he knew that none of them would turn their backs and betray him.

***

"I told you it was softer, Hwa-Young! Do you not understand?! Or are you deaf? "Lord Glorfindel cried furiously, bringing his hand down on the bench with a terrible force.  
Laura stared at him, a dangerous light gathering in her green eyes. She was tired of her insults. It was the fifth time and for Laura, it was more than enough. If it had been another person, she would have answered with irony and aggressiveness; but it was Glorfindel. He had always behaved kindly with her, endured her insolence and ill-manners. It was true that he had said things that she did not like and, moreover, had angered her; but in the end, they had been for her sake. Sometimes, he did not understand what Laura was thinking and took false steps, but his good will and kindness were always present, and Laura could not deny that ... even if she thought too.

***

Laura’s POV

'I do not know what's wrong with this Elf-guy! From night to morning, he has suddenly acquired a demon-mood! knows what happened to him! And apparently, he was not the only one. Today the two Elf-lords who watch my cottage, friend Ecthelion, and Lord Rog were not in a good mood at all.  
Rog is not surprising: he's a guy who has a fairly strong temper. In fact, I believe that the only one who beats it is Duilin. I can imagine the reason: Duilin is younger, or at least that's my hunch. The prudence to control oneself only comes with the experience of being older or ... of having been trained like me. But since the guy from the House of the Hammer of the Wrath was not trained by the Facility or by any similar organization, then only that possibility remains: he is older than Duilin.  
As for friend Ecthelion ...? He does surprise me. That Elf-guy is very calm, kind and always does his best to be at peace with everyone, including me. I must give him credit for it: I am not a very nice person. But this morning, Ecthelion was in such a bad mood that he hardly greeted me. It was quite clever on his part: following the famous, and unfortunately often ignored, advice: If you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all.  
Lord Rog hardly even spoke to me. He was abrupt with me ... well, more abrupt than he usually is, but I got used to it. Not everyone will be like Glorfindel or Ecthelion or Egalmoth or Galdor. However, it catches my attention. The three Lords I’ve seen today are furious.  
But the quarrel was not among them, no. When friend Ecthelion gave the surveillance of my cottage to Rog, I could see that they were angry and in a bad mood, but not at each other. The same happened with Glorfindel. The guy greeted Rog in a friendly manner, and in turn, Rog greeted Glorfindel, but all three are furious. And guess who has had to foot the bill for it? Laura Kinney!  
My guess is that the three were scolded. Maybe the good Turgon lectured them, maybe even punished them. The question is why; But even more important is ... what the hell do I have to do with the matter? Why did I have to pay for what Turgon lectured them about?   
It is true that I am not an angel, nor will I ever be, no matter how hard I try, but I also do not deserve to be treated this poorly, especially when I have tried long and hard to be nice to everyone, including Duilin. And c’mon ...! I'm talking about Duilin! The guy who is more temperamental than a girl with P.M.S.!  
This has been the fifth time that Glorfindel has shouted at me. Today he has behaved like a jerk and I am not a person who tolerates jerks. Everyone who has behaved like this to me has ended up in a bad situation. And I must add that I was tempted to do the same thing to him: treat him badly, bicker with him, or just leave and let him talk to himself. I do not have to put up with his bad mood.  
But ... but I do not know what has stopped me. Now that I've seen him hit the bench, as I did a couple of weeks ago, I realize that he's really furious; but even being furious and not wanting to see me or the rest of the world, he came anyways give me my harp lesson. So, it's really admirable that he did it. Any other would have left me waiting, without even appearing or sending a message.  
However, this elf-guy, Glorfindel, took the time to come here and not abjure his promise. Maybe the bet is what motivated him to come: I am sure even thinking about having to cut his pretty Rapunzel hair has terrified him. The fact that he has made an effort to come does not mean that he has been able to maintain his composure ... but hey, he is an Elf and what can be expected of the Elves? After all, they have a superiority complex so big they probably never believe they are wrong.   
In any case, I had a great temptation to answer him as he deserves; or bicker with him or humiliate him. I know him enough to know where to attack, and at least hurt him for a while, but ... it's not fair. No, it's not fair and I would be very ungrateful if I did such a thing.   
I know that I don’t follow the idiom: If you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all. I have never been very skilled with words unless it is for deceiving and achieving something. But in other ways, I'm awfully clumsy. I do not know how to console, I do not know how to give encouragement, I do not know how to make people laugh or at least make smile. It is so pathetic! I know many things much more complicated, things that are rare; but being empathic ...? I do not have that skill and most likely, no matter how hard I try will never have it. The same thing has always happened, every time I try to help by showing empathy, they all push me aside. And yet, even though I think this, and I get angry and sad at the same time, I cannot help but feel something for the good Elf-guy. I feel angry and offended, yes, but I also feel ... sadness and something like compassion.   
I don’t know, it's a pretty strange feeling. The point is, this strange feeling has made me stay, even though he is behaving like a real lout…....  
Now, he is being silent. All his presence radiates contained fury. It’s a fact, he is making a super effort not to speak badly, but h’s failed... well, he is an Elf and even Elves, however superior, are not immune to anger.   
Although I know this ... I can’t help thinking: how can I help? It's a fact that can’t help through words: I'm clumsy and the only thing I would do would be to anger him more and we would argue, and we would fight. Maybe even the good relationship that we have, would disappear by a word badly said by me or him. Leaving him is to show a lot of ingratitude. Why? I do not know, but I guess because he has never left even though I often, with my 'ill-manners', as they call them, would have merited it. Then what do I do? I think there is no other recourse, and, in fact, I think it is the most appropriate and logical, to stay with him as long as he is here.   
Remmy used to tell me to think about how I would like to be treated, and treat others that way. If I was angry, I would like them to leave me alone and not talk to me, but Glorfindel is not one of those people. The good Glorfindel has delineated his priorities and will not fail in them, no matter how angry he is; but he is not perfect, and I am sure that the fact that nobody spoke to him, for him would be the best.   
So, considering all this, I'll stay with him all night, accompanying him all the time he’s here, without saying a word. I believe that’s the best way to pay the debt for the immense good that he has done to me up to now, is to be ... empathic with him and try to understand him as best I can. Afterward I will see what is done in terms of reason and in the future if he will apologize, but for now ... what I will do is support him, even if it is only with my presence. If that means being empathetic, then I will be ... I'll be empathetic and try to understand Glorfindel.’ 

***

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had repeatedly insulted Laura. He had called her 'clumsy', 'firíma', 'unable to do as she was told’ among other things. But the only reaction she had given was to frown and close her fists, but she had not uttered a single word.  
Finally, Glorfindel understood that if he kept trying to teach her, he would ruin all he had worked for. His insults were not worthy of an Elf, much less of an Elf-lord. But at the same time, he did not want to leave. He had made a vast effort to see the daughter of the Men and knew that she would not forgive him if he left. And at the same time, he knew that he could not continue teaching her without insulting her again. The best he could do was to keep quiet and calm himself... if he could.  
What the king had told him--had opened a wound so tenuously closed. Even Lord Ecthelion had been furious, although he had not said a word about it because of his magnificent self-control, temper, and wisdom. But he was not the Lord of the Fountains, nor did he have his wisdom, nor his age, much less his temper.   
The King broaching the terrible end of Princess Aredhel had reopened the wound that had barely closed. In truth, his words were a knife that had cut even deeper and longer, and his anger was the blood gushing ought.   
Seeing that the Lord had turned and was watching a brilliant constellation, Laura quietly laid the harp on the grass, drew up her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around and them and then rested her chin on her knees. Her green eyes glanced furtively towards Lord Glorfindel who had not even realized what the young woman had done, and then she looked up at the sky full of stars.  
And all that night, Laura did not move from her place, keeping him company without a word.

***

Elyéta’s POV

'Oh! I feel so sad and disappointed in myself! I was so ungainly......I was mute. And yet…..and yet, he did me the honor of escorting me to the palace. And he was so chivalrous with me. He even said that one day we could talk. Is he giving me a chance? Or is it simply out of kindness and pity? He has to think that I am clumsy, that I do not know how to talk and when I do I am ramble and babble like a fool.  
I have felt so sad, but at the same time have such a great desire to correct my mistake that I have decided to give him the picture I made of his feather. Yes, I know that it is ridiculous and he will not like it….he may not even pay attention to it. But I would like him to see that although I did not speak to him, it was not because I did not want to talk to him. I would like him to forgive me. Maybe one day we could truly talk and spend time together. I know I do not have the slightest chance of being noticed…….but, he was happy to see me again.   
I have framed the painting as beautifully as I could and used the sigil of his House to decorate. I hope he will like it, and through it, he can see I am trying to correct my mistake.   
Maybe this painting will keep him from forgetting my name him, even if it's only that ... do not forget my name, do not forget that there is an Elf-maid in Gondolin called Elyéta. I do not ask for more.

***

Purple shadows stole across Tumladen, and the Wind-sylphs bent the green grasses and pulled at Duilin’s hair, carrying with them all the fragrance of evening flowers, but the Swallow found no relief in it.   
No, although it was an evening made for peace, peace was not in Duilin’s heart. How could it be? How could he enjoy it in the face of the storm that was unleashed within himself? The words that the king targeted him that evening had been not only hateful but slander. Certainly, he had no affection or appreciation for Lord Maeglin, but neither did he play him false. He simply preferred to stay away from him and if that meant being scathing, so be it. Seeing how the Lord of the Mole hounded his cousin for him was more than demeaning, and it had driven any pity Duilin might have harbored ought. No Lord, indeed, no Elf was worthy of respect if he did such a thing to any maid.   
But the King thought very differently and his love for his sister’s son had blinded him so he defended the hound instead of his daughter and believed in the lies of Maeglin rather than the truth of his Lords…or even his darling daughter, the one that had been until recently, the adoration of his heart.   
His heart burned with anger, merely thinking of the words that Lord Maeglin had spoken against them. If there was any hope that he would ever have patience with the Elf, it was gone. The baseness Maeglin had shown illustrated why Duilin would certainly never trust and never accept him. Maeglin’s manipulation of the noble High King enraged him, and while the words of Turgon were terrible to all the Lord, particularly to Lord Glorfindel, neither he nor the Lord of the Golden Flower was against the king: they were still faithful to him and his daughter and the city ... but was Lord Maeglin? Lord Duilin did not know what the half-Vanya thought about it, but for his part, he hated the Lord of the Mole.  
So absorbed was he in his thoughts, chaotic by the fury and indignation of which he was possessed, that he did not listen to the delicate steps of an Elven-maid, who was timidly approaching. He did not even notice her presence, even though she was only a few steps away from him. It was not until a sweet voice made him turn sharply that he recognized in the beautiful elf-maid with jet-black hair, the tender beauty, the eyes that had not left his thoughts for one instant: Elyéta.  
***

"Um ... good evening, my lord.” She greeted him shyly.  
"Good evening," he answered coldly, despite himself. She was not guilty of anything, she did not even know what had happened, but his anger was so great that he could scarcely contain himself.  
Elyéta saw by the expression and voice of the Elf-lord that he was in an ill temper, but she thought it was seeing her again displeased him.  
'I have arrived late! It's too late! 'She thought desperately, as her throat tightened. 'Overcome it, Elyéta, overcome! '  
"May I say something, my lord?" she asked, lowering her gaze. She crossed her hands behind her back and began to rock back and forth on her heels.  
On another occasion, Duilin would have immediately answered affirmatively, but his anger prevented him; However, that feeling that he had for her, forced him to make a heroic effort. He said in a strained voice. "Elyéta, I do not want to talk to ..."  
His words were choked in his throat because Elyéta had extended the painting to him.   
He stared at her in surprise and then slowly took the portraiture from her hand, studying it by the moonlight. As he saw what it represented, little by little, a slight smile appeared on his lips.  
It was a small painting, drawn on fine canvas, and painted with an unparalleled mastery. It represented one of the feathers he wore, falling on a rose the color of blood that blossomed amongst from a bush full of flowers, which he immediately recognized: it was one of the many bushes that grew alongside the Alley of Roses. The feather was beautifully painted, as was as the flower. It seemed that the feather could truly be touched, and the rose exhaled its fragrance. In it not only the feather was represented on a petal of that beautiful flower, but also the airy fragility with which it had fallen on the bush was seen.  
Framing that beauty of painting, there was a hand-carved wooden frame of an impressive elegance. On the bottom, the sigil of the House of the Swallow was seen, and in the corner beside it, the name of the painter with her own handwriting.  
He looked at the painting for a moment and then turned his gaze to the artist. She was trembling, her gaze low, as she waited for his reaction. It was clear that she had taken pains to do something exceptional for him, and that in that simple but beautiful painting she had put in each brushstroke a small part of herself.   
When thinking this, that tempest that was unleashed inside him calmed: the furious wind became a gentle breeze, and black clouds dissipated until the moonlight entered.  
"It's very beautiful," he said  
"You ... like it, my lord?" she dared, her gaze still fixed upon the wall walk.   
"I love it, Elyéta," he replied sincerely, looking at her. "You are a very talented painter"  
She raised her head and fixed her gray eyes on his blue ones, in which shone a strange light, a light that Elyéta had never seen in him or in any other Elf; but a light made her fëa tremble to its core.   
"I ... I'm ... I'm glad" she stuttered. "I did it especially for you, my Lord."  
Duilin’s his heart stopped, and then beat again, but tender and slow, a heartbeat that he did not want to never end. He took one of her hands and kissed it, which made Elyéta shiver and blush intensely.  
"Thank you," he replied smiling, a smile that he had never addressed to anyone before.   
She blushed so her cheeks burned, and smiled back at him, a shy smile but full of joy; however, suddenly a slight frown appeared on her forehead.  
"What is it, my lord?" She asked after a few moments.  
Duilin frowned in surprise at the strange question. Seeing his gesture, Elyéta lowered her eyes once more and crossed her hands in front of her, clasping them nervously.  
"Is that ...... ah ... well ... your eyes do not shine as always, my Lord. Ah ... I think ... well ... something disturbs you greatly, " she ventured, so softly that it seemed more like a sigh. Finally, she raised her face and asked. "What is it, my lord? Is there any way I can help you? "  
The Lord of the Swallow felt a chill run down his back. He would never have imagined she would care so much about him, and even less that she would notice such minute details. It was evident that he was truly important to her. When thinking this, once again his heart stopped, and he barely could contain the sigh that threatened to leave his chest.   
"It's nothing," he replied softly "It really does not matter."  
Elyéta frowned slightly. She did not believe a single word. "Really, my lord? I know I'm not the wisest person and you barely know me, but ... maybe I could ...... ah ... help you? It's the least I can do for you, after behaving so impolitely.”   
Duilin frowned in confusion.  
"I did not talk to you all the way to the palace," she murmured, looking down in embarrassment. "That's a terrible lack of manners, particularly since you were kind enough to escort me."  
"No, the one to blame is me", he replied earnestly. "You were indeed nervous, and I should have been kinder to you"  
"What is it, my lord?" She asked again after a moment, raising her gaze and fixing it on his, seeking the truth in his blue eyes.  
"It does not matter," he hastened to answer.  
Why tell her that humiliation? It was clear that this beautiful elf-maid was extremely sensitive and although she would listen to him and sympathize with him, it was no less true that she would also feel unhappy for him, and she did not deserve such a thing. Nor did he deserve that such a sweet creature should be so interested as to suffer with him. She must be happy: her sweet and tender heart deserved it.  
He was torn from his thoughts by her gesture of surprise, and her large eyes on his.   
"What is it, Elyéta?" He asked, surprised.  
"Hush," she said, smiling, "Listen, my lord"  
Lord Duilin paid attention. He heard nothing.   
"Listen, close your eyes and listen ... there it is ... the sound that truly matters," she said, closing her own eyes, a look of silent exhilaration on her face.   
He frowned in confusion but did as he was asked. As he did so, a sweet song came to him. It was the wind that blew softly, and he in the midst of his fury had not even noticed it.  
"The wind?" he asked.   
"Yes, the wind," she answered, her voice borne upon the soft night breeze almost as though one with it. "The wind," she repeated after a few moments and began to speak in the tone of one who is sharing a great and beautiful secret. “The wind is the only sound that truly matters; for the wind brings with it great and ancient stories of joy as well as sadness, both hate, and love. If you know how to listen, you learn from the great heroes of olden days, from the songs sung by the Ainur in eternity, the Great Music. The wind brings wars, but it also brings peace ... peace for those who have lost it, those who have in their hearts' great unrest,” she said, turning to him and opening her eyes.  
"So, the wind is the only sound that truly matters?" He asked, opening his one, asking in the same tone she had answered, while a soft smile appeared on his lips.  
Elyéta nodded several times and smiled at him, while her eyes shone with a light of joy at seeing him smile.  
Lord Duilin stared at her, and in his blue eyes appeared a very strange and different light that was the true reflection of the beat of his heart. He could not believe that this beautiful creature would have been able to calm the storm inside him without even knowing what had caused it. Instead of leaving him alone to the onslaught of the waves of his fury, she had stayed and by her tender and childish conversation, had calmed him, and now his heart beat so marvelously that the Elf-lord longed for it to continue forever. How had she done it? He did not have the faintest idea, but he knew she was special, very special to him, and her beautiful eyes like two great stars and her sweet smile were not only an anchor for this difficult moment, they also pleased his fëa. Guided by that strange, new feeling that had taken hold of his fëa, he said in a low voice, leaning towards her, like someone who is going to reveal a great secret.  
"You are right, Elyéta. The wind brings everything you have said, but you have forgotten a very important one.”   
The elf-maid who had looked at the Echoriath, content to enjoy the wind next to him, turned and looked at him questioningly.   
"The wind is also the only sound that really matters because it brings the voice of a sweet Elf-maid, tender, fair-minded, wise and beautiful; one who only needs to look at you to see what ails you and know what words you need to hear at the moment.”   
Elyéta’s eyes widened, and her delicate lips parted to reveal her uncanny astonishment. In her eyes shone light very similar to the one that shone at that moment in his. She opened her mouth to answer, but apparently, she could not even find her voice, and even if she had, it would not have been useful because at that moment Lord Duilin said in a gentle voice,  
"Hush ... let me hear the wind, the sound that really matters."  
Elyéta nodded several times and was leaving when a hand on her arm startled her. It was Duilin, who gently stopped her, and added, "With you by my side"  
She blushed and gave him a shy smile, but full of joy and a feeling ... a feeling that was reflected faithfully in his smile.


	23. To repent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have been the witnesses of the love developing between Lord Duilin and Elyéta and now another person will enter to that plot, what will be his role in this story?  
> And what about Laura and Lord Glorfindel?

Chapter 23: To Repent 

(Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Yavannië {September}, Yávië, Summer Waning). 

The sky lightened to a pale silver in the East. Golden rays of sun rose over the Echoriath, heralding a new day come to Gondolin. Dawn set the sky awash with color, and Tumladen glittered with dew, white mists rising from the grasses. The wind, which had held the bite of autumn during the night, grew warmer and wet, carrying the dew with it.   
Elyéta and Duilin had not moved from the wall and watched in pleasant silence as a new day dawned, taking with it the darkness of a difficult night to bring new hope.  
The Swallow watched an eager lark skim over the white heads of the grasses and then turned to his beautiful companion. She was bound in rapt delight as she walked the dawn: while he delighted in watching that beautiful creature called Elyéta. Her silky hair was loose and fluttering around her face, and her large eyes, in which a silver forest dawn was trapped, showed eternal youth and tenderness.   
As if sensing his gaze, she looked round to meet his eyes, and then dropped her gaze, blushing intensely. Why did he look at her like that? She was not beautiful, at least, she did not think she was. Why then did the Elf-lord look at her so? And what was that light in his eyes? Why did that light make her fëa tremble?   
'What should I do?' she asked herself, 'I do not want to appear a fool by staring at him mutely…….but my heart and mind wish to look at him. But ... what will he think of me? '  
"If I may pry, what are you going to do today, Elyéta?” He asked after a moment.   
"Oh! Um ... well, I'm going to the palace and then I have to accompany the Celebrindal. You see, my lord, the Princess will most likely want us to attend her today. And then there's Ardyl ... " She broke off when she saw Duilin smiling at her. “I am sorry, I am rambling again.” she murmured. “I am going to the palace.” "Would you allow me to accompany you?" He asked, with a leap of eagerness in his words.   
Elyéta’s eyes grew wide. He was no longer escorting her, he was accompanying her. A sudden joy overcame her heart. He was not angry with her!!   
"Oh, yes! It would be an honor, my lord!” she exclaimed with equal eagerness, nodding several times.   
"The honor is mine," he answered softly, and stood, offering her his hand to help her down the stairway carved into the stone of the wall.  
Elyéta’s blush grew when she saw he was treating her as if she were of high nobility! Nobody but her brother had shown such kindness towards her! And her surprise grew even greater when instead of walking beside her, Lord Duilin offered her his arm.  
Elyéta swallowed hard, putting her hand on his arm. Her heart was being with the quickness of hummingbird wings, but her fëa sang and shuddered at an unknown feeling that had gradually taken possession of her.   
Lord Duilin smiled at her and began to walk.

***

“We take the third gate.”   
“Yes, my Lord.”   
Glorfindel sighed. Astaldil, his second-in-command, already knew, of course. He always knew, and sometimes Glorfindel wondered if Astaldil would make a better Lord than him. He was clever and brave, one that would never fail a friend, much less forgive or forget a foe.   
“I assume Finyissë has recovered from the training mishap?” he asked.   
“She has.” Astaldil smiled. “She was quite insistent on her complete healing.”   
“Good. She may return to training in a day.”  
“That cannot come too soon.”   
Glorfindel did not smile. He would have, knowing Finyissë’s personality, had it been any other day, but not today. Not after what happened last night.   
After repeatedly insulting Hwa-Young, he had realized it was for the better to remain mute and had not spoken a single word since. Deep down, the voice that was nearly a whisper, warned him to be careful of his treatment towards her. She had no bearing on what had happened, and she was sensitive... in her own way. She had suffered too much already and did not need to suffer anymore because of him.   
Early in the morning, he had taken up his harp and left to go arrange the affairs of his House.   
Laura did not make any movement but watched him go until she lost sight of him.

***

Laura's POV

'Oookk, that was something I did not expect. I thought that the good Glorfindel would come out of his ... trance; but it turns out he didn’t. He did not even seem to realize that I was keeping him company! That ... that ... that hurts. It hurts me a lot. I shouldn’t have done it. After all, that’s how everyone behaves with me when I try to help them. Either I do not really know how to help, or my past is so black that my help is despised.  
The truth is sad and painful. Glorfindel does not have the slightest idea of who I really am or of my past, and yet he puts me aside. Apparently, I'm a lost cause. No matter how hard I try, no one will ever appreciate what I do. It seems a lie, but when I was a cold, cruel and ruthless assassin, it was when people liked me or at least respected me.  
Anyway, I shouldn’t be surprised. Lord Glorfindel is an Elf, a self-described half Fair-Elf. How else would a Fair-Elf react to the help of a firíma?  
However, I do not blame him and, strangely enough, I’m not angry with him either. It’s nobody's fault but mine and I have to face it. Glorfindel has been kind to me, many times in his own way, but he has been.  
So, I’m not angry. I can’t be, even if I wanted to. I'm just sad that he pushed me aside when I tried to help him too. The strangest thing of all is that, even though he did not say anything to me and simply left without even looking at me, I am willing to go back to ... trying to help him. If he has done it so many times facing my temper, I think it's fair that I do it too. After all, apparently he has a temper too.’ 

***

They were standing in the marble courtyard in front of the palace, by the great fountain, which cast a shower of shadows on the pavement and a shower of clear water in its basin.   
After wandering randomly for nearly two hours through Gondolin, Duilin had finally taken her to the palace. During their walk, he had asked her about the art she loved: painting. At first, Elyéta had responded nervously, terrified of beginning to babble, but the tone of his voice and the clear interest he showed in what she liked encouraged her, and after a while, she began to talk enthusiastically. Her conversation became vivacious and pleasant. There was still a certain timidity in her, especially when she saw his face; but she was more confident now.  
The Swallow listened attentively, paying attention to the smallest details of both her words and her beauty. He longed for the walk would have lasted longer, but both had duties that they could not neglect; so very reluctantly, he led her towards the palace. 

***

Elyéta gently untangled herself from the Elf-lord’s arm, glancing towards the palace and then at him, who had never lost sight of her.  
"Thank you for walking with me, my lord," she murmured, blushing again. "It has been an honor to be accompanied by the Lord of the House of the Swallow."  
"The honor has been mine, Elyéta. Not only the moment you allowed me to accompany you, but also the one you stayed with me, saving me from my own fury," he replied in his swift, eager manner. "That is something I will never forget. No one has ever been able to calm my anger…..but you,” he added after a moment. Duilin paused again. "You are a very wise person, Elyéta. Wise and beautiful,” he said in a low voice, and it seemed to Elyéta she could hear the words in her heart, so quickly did it thump against her chest.   
She smiled a smile that was very different from any that had been addressed to anyone before.  
"Thank you, my lord," she said, looking straight into his eyes "That ... that means so much to me.”   
Duilin did not answer, he gazed intently at her. He could never be weary of looking at her, nor listening to her voice. A feeling, born when they had first met, but that he had ignored in the midst of his impatience towards himself, led him to delicately tuck a black lock of her long hair behind her ear.   
The elf-maid blushed, but held his gaze, still smiling at him. Ah! How she wished that time would stop there! A sigh nearly escaped her lips as she felt his hand.   
The world halted there, the song of greeting that rose to the new day, ceased to be heard, the breeze that blew with autumnal force was arrested. Nothing existed outside of themselves, nothing, except each other. Elyéta and Lord Duilin, and that strange feeling that had been gaining ground without either of them understanding what was happening.   
He was lost in her eyes, grey of a dove’s wing, soft as down; the grey of the ocean an instant before dawn's first rays strike the water: she saw nothing but his blue eyes, intense, forceful, reflecting the intensity and forcefulness of the Swallow.   
"Elyéta! Elyéta!"   
A voice jerked them out of that enchanted moment, calling, "Elyéta! Ah! Here you are!” Elyéta turned sharply as she recognized the voice, and grew pale.  
"Linwe!" She called out to him, her voice nervous again.   
"Linwe?" Asked Duilin. A strange feeling clenched his heart, and his jaw tensed. "He is my brother. My older brother," Elyéta answered anxiously.   
"Ah!" he said, and the tightness in his chest was gone.   
An ellon who looked the age of Duilin came running towards them. He was taller than Elyéta. Jet-black hair fell over his shoulders. His eyes were a grey that was bluer than his sister’s: expressive, but lacking Elyéta’s brightness. He was slender and tall, with the muscles of a whipcord, while his features were both handsome and discerning. It was clear to Duilin, that this Linwe was indeed Elyéta's brother.  
" My lord," he said, bowing his head abruptly. An undertone of impatience was in his words, neither of which pleased the Lord of the Swallow. Common folk did not greet Lords with a bow of the head, which was a token of greeting used by how and low, but with a reverent bow. But he remained silent out of respect for Elyéta.   
“Elyéta', I have looked everywhere for you. You were not in the house, nor the Markets, nor at the palace.” exclaimed Linwe, ignoring the Elf-Lord.   
"Do not worry, Linwe," Duilin answered for Elyéta, who had been frozen in the face of her nervousness. "She and I were walking together. There is no danger.”   
"No doubt," Linwe answered in a tone that caused Duilin frown in annoyance. The veiled import of what he was saying was very clear.   
If Linwe had noted the Elf-lord’s reaction, he did not care. He turned to his sister, who had paled even farther when she saw Duilin’s frown. It was all known that the Elf-lord possessed a quick temper and what she wanted least was for him to get angry with her brother.  
"Let us go, Elyéta! The Princess is waiting for you and Ardyl is lonely. We have no time to spare.” he said, taking his sister’s hand in his. “My Lord, have a blessed day.”   
"Likewise, have a blessed day," Duilin answered coolly.  
Elyéta turned and looked at him with eloquently pleading eyes. She was trying to apologize and advocate for her brother, but the words were missing. A gentle smile from the Elf-lord reassured her, and she turned and ran after her brother.   
A sudden impulse called Duilin to spring after them, calling "Elyéta!"   
He was by her side nearly before she had turned, and she looked at him questioningly. To her untold astonishment, he took one of the white feathers from his braids, the largest and most beautiful. Then taking her right hand, he laid the feather in her palm.   
"Thank you," he said. "I hope to see you again soon," he added, covering her delicate hand with his own. She could feel that his hands were marked with lines and callouses, that told a story, that he had not always been the greatest archer and spearman in Gondolin. She had never seen so beautiful…..so masculine a creature.   
She blushed and returned his smile. "Likewise, my lord," she replied.   
"Elyéta!"   
Elf-maid and Elf- lord turned. Linwe was standing an ell away, his arms crossed: clearly impatient.  
"May you have a blessed day, my lord," said Elyéta, bowing.  
"May you have a blessed day, Elyéta," he replied smiling, as he bowed his head in answer.   
Elyéta smiled at him one last time and ran away to her brother, who had seen everything with clear annoyance. Duilin stared at him, showing that he harbored no affection for Linwe’s actions. annoyed and frowning heavily. To his astonishment, Linwe held his gaze without flinching, which was rare.   
Then he took Elyéta by the hand, as a brother would do with his little sister and both left hurriedly, losing sight of the Elf-lord soon.

***

"Please, Linwe, please calm yourself!” Elyéta pleaded once they had lost sight of Lord Duilin.   
"No Elyéta, do not ask me to calm down!” He exclaimed hotly. “Do you not realize what is happening?”   
She looked at him in surprise and confusion. No, she did not understand.  
Linwe stopped his hurried walk and released her hand.  
"Elyéta I looked for you all night," he said, "And I found you nowhere. First, I looked for you in the places you usually are, but when I did not find you in any of them, I looked for you everywhere. Do you know how much anxiety you brought on me?”   
"Linwe, you know that the city is completely safe. No one knows of its existence," she reproached. “I was with Lord Duilin. Even if Gondolin was suddenly, I would be safe.”   
Linwe sighed with exasperation "No Elyéta. You are not safe with him.”   
"Of course I am!” she contradicted quickly. “He is an Elf- Lord! He is the Lord of the House of the Swallow! He is fastest and most agile elf of all Gondolin! He would protect me from any assailant!”   
“Yes, he would protect you from assailants, but not from him. He is precisely the danger.”   
Elyéta alternately paled and flushed with indignation. What was her brother trying to tell her?  
"Listen Elyéta. I am telling you this for your own good:: we are from the common people and he is Lord. Do not forget it,” he said, his voice gentler. he   
"And what does that have to do?" She answered angrily. "What is wrong with us being….being…..friends!”   
Linwe did not know whether to laugh or cry or get angry. How innocent his little sister was!   
"No, Elyéta. He wants more than friendships.”   
"What do you mean?" She asked, but a voice in her heart had already supplied her with an answer.   
Linwe groaned. “A lover, Elyéta! He wants to be your lover!” he exclaimed, drawing a curious look from a fellow lady-in-waiting, Melimë, who was passing by on her way to the palace. Lowering his voice, he continued. “Why do you think he gave you his feather? And why do you think he behaves so gallantly with you? Why do you think he accompanied you around the city?” He took her by the shoulders when she drew a shuddering breath. " Elyéta, you are my little sister, my only family and I have sworn to protect you from anyone who wants to hurt you.”   
"Lord Duilin would never hurt me!" She exclaimed in a trembling voice, her eyes full of tears.   
"That's what you think. And ... maybe that is not his intention; But sooner than later he will. You are beautiful, and you have an unparalleled talent for painting. You have a heart of gold and you are noble, but that does not matter when he is a Lord. They will fall in love with ladies of their own rank. He cares about you for the moment, but sooner or later he will live you for a lady. That is the way of life, inwilitse¹.” He sighed when he saw her tears and hugged her. “Ah, Elyéta! Do not cry, little sister, do not cry! Only do not forget: he is a Lord and you are a commoner.”  
Elyéta pushed away from her, her mouth set. “ No, you're wrong, Linwe," she said determinedly. “It is true that he is a Lord and I am commoner. But that is not a barrier to friendship.”   
Linwe opened his mouth to answer, but Elyéta did not allow him.  
"So, don’t you dare think of Lord Duilin like that. He has always behaved kindly to me. Although it was my fault, he tripped on the Alley of Roses, he did not get angry, instead, he apologized.”   
Linwe drew a quick, startled breath. He did not know that!   
"Yes, he apologized," she repeated firmly, "So do not think poorly of Lord Duilin, Linwe. It is true that he is a Lord known for his quick temper, but he is also kind and gallant and understanding.” she paused. "Now, I have to go look for the Princess. Please, give my greetings to Ardyl!”   
She turned and ran after Melimë. Linwe watched her go. 

***

Linwe's POV

'Elyéta must always be stubborn, and that has led her into trouble. In Válinor she would get trapped in trees because she was afraid to climb down. I told her not to, but she never listened, and then I was forced to carry her down.   
But I cannot be angry at her, even if she is obstinate. She is my little sister, the only family I have. After our parents died in the Helcaraxë, lost forever in those mountains of ice, we were alone in the world.  
Since we left Válinor, along with the Second Host of the Noldor, those whom Fëanor left behind, I swore to myself I would protect her from danger, at any cost to myself. Until now they have been physical dangers, like that of the tree or crossing the Grinding Ice; but now, I have to protect her from emotional dangers.   
Elyéta is sweet, she is tender, she is noble and sensitive; she is a treasure among all Gondolin, and the one who can win her would be the most fortunate in Ennor and Válinor. But Elyéta has never given any importance to any ellon save me. She has always been immersed in serving the Princess and in her art; but apparently now an ellon, and what is worse ... an Elf- Lord……even worse Lord Duilin, has appeared in her life and won her attention, and he is very likely earning her heart too.  
However, everyone in Gondolin knows the quick temper of Lord Duilin. He scorns mawkishness, but seeing his behavior towards Elyéta fills me with misgivings and anger. If he thinks because he is a Lord, he can do as he wishes with my sister, if he thinks he can win her heart and then leave her for a Lady and destroy her, he is very, very wrong.   
It is true that he is the fastest Elf in Gondolin, and the greatest archer, and a fearsome warrior. It is true I am not a warrior, but I am Elyéta’s brother and one who has never forsworn his word. If Lord Duilin is to be my enemy, so be it! '

***

Elyéta's POV

'I do not know what's wrong with Linwe! He had never behaved like this before with me! How dare he think Lord Duilin is going to hurt me?! Duilin would never do it! I’m ... I'm special to him! Yes, yes, I am! He wanted me to accompany him all night, he wanted to keep me company on the way to the palace, he was interested in knowing about my painting ... he gave me his feather and he liked my painting! No, he would not hurt me! What Linwe thinks that nonsense! He is very intelligent, he always has been, but now he’s suddenly babbling foolishness.   
Besides, Lord Duilin is not interested in me more than as a friend. Although…..I wish he was. I want it so much…… But, although Linwe said nonsense about Lord Duilin hurting me ... I cannot deny that what he has said about Duilin being a Lord and I a commoner. It’s true, and I do not have the slightest chance.   
Ah! How painful! Anyway ... overcome it, Elyéta! If he never cares about you as more than a friend, at least there is a unique friendship. With that, I will be content.’

***

Lord Duilin's POV

‘It seems one besides Hwa-Young lacks manners as well! Does he forget I am Lord of the Swallow, part of the Council of the High King  
But that does not matter so much……what matters is he thinks I am going to hurt his sister. I would never hurt Elyéta! She is beautiful to me, she is the one who has helped me out of this difficult moment. She is sweet, tender, wise, understanding and ... so beautiful! I would never hurt her! And that meddlesome ellon should recognize it! Besides, I am an Elf-lord. If I mistreated or hurt a maiden, I would not deserve to be a Lord.   
No, Elyéta is unique and different. She ... she ... she ... oh, Válar! Could that have happened to me?! It has never interested me but now ...! Oh, Válar! Have I really fallen in love with her? No! No, it is not possible! It's only been a month since I met her!  
I will think on it later. The House of the Swallow needs its Lord, and tonight they watch the Gates.’

***

A sweet sound stopped the hurried footsteps of Glorfindel, who was going to speak to Elemmakil about a confusion over changing gate-guards. He paused and going over to the windows that opened on the terrace, listened. After a few moments, a delicate and painful melody was be heard: a melody full of sadness and pain. At the sound of the notes, Glorfindel was filled with sadness, and to his memory, unbidden, came the situation that had occurred yesterday. And yet, that melody, however much it reminded him of that unpleasant incident, managed to soothe his heart and calm his fury.  
Directed by the notes of such a beautiful melody, he found its author: Ecthelion.  
The Lord of the Fountains sat on a marble bench a great elm, its rust-colored leaves swaying over his black head. His eyes were closed, and his fëa directed his fingers. Beside him were several sheets of paper, an inkwell, and a quill. Surely, he was composing, Glorfindel thought, for when a great emotion shook his friend, instead of training, he took refuge in the art he loved most: Music. Many of his melodies and songs had been composed at some point out of happiness, melancholy, sadness, and, this time out of frustration and anger. The melody had no lyrics: it was exclusively instrumental, but Ecthelion’s flute needed no accompaniment, so much was his music imbued with feeling. His face was peaceful, so peaceful it was sad.   
So lost was he, in the world of music he had created for himself, he had ears for nothing else, and Glorfindel remained silent, listening to the mournful melody, submerging his heart in it and achieving in this way a fleeting calm.   
Finally, when the last mournful note had died away the air, Ecthelion opened his eyes, full of wisdom, intelligence, but there was anger, sadness and, above all, frustration, in their steel-colored depths.   
" Heldo ²," he said, in a quiet voice. "What do you think of it?"  
"One of your best compositions," replied the half-Vanya, leaning on the engaged pillar that was carved into the gateway of the gardens. "What is it titled?"  
"I do not know," replied the Noldo. "I have not even written the notes. Can you think of a name?”   
Glorfindel shook his head. "No. You know that Music has never been my strong point. In addition, it is your melody, and the feeling you have expressed in it is exclusively yours.”   
"And yet, I think we both share the reason for that feeling," Ecthelion said.  
Glorfindel laugh was hard and scornful. “Indeed. The king believes Lord Maeglin and Lord Salgant above all others. Six Lord who have the same mind about one! But he only believes the one who admires him. That is wise and just, I am certain.”   
"The “one” is his nephew, Glorfindel," Ecthelion replied in a tone of resignation. "He's always going to give his family more authority than those who are outside it."  
"And what about the Celebrindal?" Glorfindel cried angrily. “She is his daughter! His DAUGHTER! But he does not believe her. He was angry with her during that ‘lengthy conversation. Ecthelion, we must do something,” he said after a moment when he saw that the Lord of the Fountains was silent, watching the grass. ,   
"And what do you want us to do, Glorfindel? "He finally asked raising his. “What do you want us to do? You heard the way he spoke to you and me. The words that yesterday addressed to you about what happened a few years ago indicate that neither you nor I have been forgiven for what happened to his sister. He may not have punished us, he may have shown us benevolence when we returned ashamed, humiliated and hardly alive…without the Princess. But his words he said yesterday, clearly indicate what I have always noticed in him: a silent resentment towards us."  
"Then why did not he just punish us?" shouted Glorfindel.   
"Glorfindel, he is doing it! Do not you realize?” Ecthelion exclaimed. "Knowing him as I know him, he is doing it involuntarily, perhaps even unconsciously, but he is punishing us. Is not benevolence after such a failure enough of a humiliation? We are humiliated not before others, but before our own eyes, which is worse. You cannot deny it, Glorfindel. I assure you that you too must feel ashamed because even though you deserved, like me, punishment, the King was kind, although we lost his sister.”   
There was a heavy silence. Both remembered clearly, as if it had been yesterday, Írissë contending with her brother, shouting “I am your sister and not your servant, and beyond your bounds, I will go as seems good to me!”   
Írissë was weary of Gondolin, as she had been weary of Valinor. There, she said, she had been locked in staid, unbending custom, here, she was locked in a beautiful cage of white stone. She longed for the freedom, the danger. She wanted to wander.   
Lord Glorfindel could not help feeling angry that he and Ecthelion were accused of being the culprits. He had never understood Írissë’s impatience towards Valinor’s customs: they were free there, free in Aman, but she had left, willingly, eagerly.   
In his opinion, Írissë was both capricious and proud, and that had cost her dearly. And so had Turgon’s weakness. The King was strong, both in body and mind, but in matters that concerned his family……that was the weak point, the place where the iron that had never been tempered into steel. If someone wanted to harm him irreparably, hurt his family, and it would harm Turgon in a terrible way. Wrath would fall instantly on his head, not only from Turgon but all the Noldor, as Turgon knew how to attract sympathy.  
Glorfindel did consider himself or any of Írissë’s escort culprits. Certainly, they were largely to blame, but they did not have all the blame. The king refused to accept his part, but he was sure Turgon knew that he was too guilty and his way of redeeming himself was protecting and loving his sister's son above all else ... including his daughter.  
"And what do we do?" He finally asked the Lord of the Fountains who had been studying his silver flute of the finest silver. He was very thoughtful and that was a characteristic that appeared when something worried him unduly.  
"What do you mean?" Ecthelion asked.   
“Concerning Maeglin and Idril." replied his friend impatiently. “You and I know better than anyone what the Celebrindal is suffering because we are well acquainted with both parties. Therefore, we both know how it will end if we do not intervene.”   
"Protect Idril, there are no other means, Glorfindel" replied Ecthelion. "As soon as we say a single word against Lord Maeglin, the king's wrath will fall on our heads. Although the king thinks he has the whip-hand, he is very wrong. It is his nephew who has it,” he added bitterly. Ecthelion hated the way the Prince manipulated Salgant at his whim and his excessive influence over the King.   
"There must be another way! Perhaps if we found evidence to show the king how wrong he is-”  
"What more evidence do you want us then the word of nine Lords!” interrupted Ecthelion. “He would not hear, Glorfindel! Even if Maeglin told him he was hounding Idril, the King would give him some mild rebuke and forgive him! There is no way to make a blind man see if he does not want to recover his sight.” Glorfindel cursed under his breath, which strange for him.  
"You have to calm yourself, Glorfindel," Lord Ecthelion told him, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "If you react unfavorably, you might have a serious problem and, this time, the King will punish you. Remember what happened between Hwa -Young and you, and the punishment that it incurred?”   
"It has been one of the most humiliating moments that-” Glorfindel stopped, his blue eyes suddenly widening.   
" What is it?” Ecthelion asked.   
" Hwa -Young!" Exclaimed the other.   
“What of her?”   
“Yesterday I went to see her.” began Glorfindel excitedly.   
“Considering the temper of both of you, that mixture must have been deadly,” answered Ecthelion drily.   
"No, no, Ecthelion! "he exclaimed, his excitement growing. “Nothing was farther from the truth! Válar! What have I done? "  
"It is certainly a riddle ... did you insulted her?” asked his friend with a deprecating look.   
"Several times ... I even called her 'firíma'," Glorfindel muttered, lowering his eyes. Lord Ecthelion shook his head reproachfully. “Why did you see her, Glorfindel? Why did you go if you were so angry?”   
"Because I thought she would get angry if I did not go," he murmured.  
"She would be angrier if you insulted her.”   
Glorfindel shook his head. "No," he replied, "although I insulted her repeatedly, she did not answer a single word. I…do not understand why. Then, I decided that the best thing was to keep quiet before I caused irreparable damage.” He looked up and saw his friend who had his arms crossed over his chest. “She kept me silent company all night, Ecthelion.” He groaned, passing a hand through his hair in frustration. “Oh, Válar! Why did I leave when she finally showed kindness and sympathy with me!"   
The Noldo put a hand on his shoulder to show sympathy. "So, why are you standing here? Go to correct your error as soon as possible "  
"I cannot. I should not even be here--I needed to speak to Elemmakil over some confusion at the gates. But I’ll go tonight.”   
Ecthelion smiled. "I will pray to the Válar that they have mercy on you, and give you more wisdom. What you have now is not worth a rush.”   
Glorfindel frowned but said nothing. His friend was right.

***

Laura was reviewing her notes. She did not know how to read or write Tengwar and she did not have pen or paper, but she used pieces of wood and her adamantium claws to write down everything that Lord Glorfindel taught her.  
Laura had a prodigious memory, but she had a bet to win, and so followed the Chinese proverb: 'a simple piece of paper written in the poorest way is better than the best of memories'.  
So, every night when the Elf-lord finished teaching her her nightly harp lesson, Laura wrote it down and reviewed it each day, or on the nights he did not come….like tonight.   
Her window was open, and she lifted her head at a familiar scent. Glorfindel did not often visit on Aldúya.   
He knocked and called her fictional name. Laura sighed impatiently. She hated being interrupted while reading, more so, while studying; but she remembered that she had promised herself to be kind to Lord Glorfindel, even if he had behaved like a real jerk. She hid her notes, got up and, gathering her short patience, opened the door. 

***

Glorfindel's POV

'Every time I remember my behavior towards her, I am so ashamed! I have striven to teach her that she is a kind and agreeable person. I set myself the goal of knowing and helping her; and now that she has finally shown herself not only friendly but also understanding, is when I had to fail.   
Anyone would say that she deserves it, and the truth, to be honest, she deserves it: but I believe her unpleasant behavior is the result of suffering. I have tried to make her see what is the best, I have tried to help her, I have asked her to give me an opportunity to help her and to trust me ... and just when she finally dares to show a different attitude, it is just when I show her ill-treatment.   
Oh, Válar! Listen to my request! May she listen to me and, even more, to forgive me! You know that she is a woman with a temper like I have never seen before. I beg of you that my behavior has no repercussions. I do not want to retrace the path I walked with so much work! '

***

Laura immediately noticed his nervous behavior.  
'And now what's wrong with this elf-guy?' she thought  
“Hwa -Young, would you let me talk to you for a moment?" he asked quietly.   
Laura raised a black eyebrow. "As far as I remember, Lord Glorfindel, my harp lessons aren’t scheduled tonight," she said with some harshness, much to her chagrin. It was because of the interruption, but he interrupted it as rejection and winced.   
"It's true," he said, his blue eyes penitent. "But please let me talk to you for a few moments.”   
Laura sighed reluctantly but closed the door behind her and they both went to the bench. For several minutes they sat in silence, as Glorfindel struggled for words, and Laura reminded herself to be understanding with the Elf who done her so much good.   
"I came ... I came to apologize to you" he said, at last, his words slow.   
Laura turned to him. She would never have imagined that he would have come exclusively to apologize to her!  
"What I did and said yesterday was thoroughly wrong," he continued " I was very angry, as I have rarely been, and in the midst of my fury, I did not realize ….how terrible my deeds were.” He looked up and fixed his blue eyes on her green ones. Her face showed no emotion, but inside, her astonishment had no limits  
From time to time these Elves show qualities, real qualities and very praiseworthy ones at that,' she thought  
"Forgive me, Hwa -Young," he said, his words full of truth. “I should not have done that. My attitude was not anything lordly. And, instead, you gave me this time, a standard.”   
Laura could not suppress an expression of amazement.  
"Yes," Glorfindel said with a slight smile when he saw her face. "Although I insulted you, you did not answer; and although I simply stopped talking to you, you did not leave as you were entitled to do; but stayed with me all night, keeping me company.” he paused. “What you did, Hwa -Young shows that, when you want, you are wise; and you have, as I imagined, a good and noble heart. I am in debt to you forever.”   
Laura blinked several times, trying to really make sure her eyes were not deceiving her. How many times to the people she had helped, put her aside! And instead, they had pointed at her, judged her and mistreated her! Moreover, she was astonished that Glorfindel was so sure she was kind and noble of heart. Really that Elf had great faith in her. At the thought of it, she dropped her eyes and stared at the grass. Her heart was beating hastily. That was so ... so ... beautiful! So wonderful! She could hardly believe that it was so!  
Glorfindel frowned slightly at the attitude of her. It seemed she did not believe him.  
"What is it, Hwa -Young?" He asked softly.  
"Nothing," she answered in a forced voice. "It is just that I am ... surprised you consider my attitude something ... amazing and worthy of eternal gratitude." she paused "No one had said it before. They all pushed me aside if I helped them, they never thanked me. Remmy and Logan were the only ones who didn’t.”   
Lord Glorfindel frowned in surprise. Why would they do such a thing? And if that was so, how had she dared to help him? He voiced his question aloud, but she did not answer and kept her eyes fixed on the grass.  
"Hwa -Young," he said softly, but she remained silent.   
Moved by a strange feeling, Glorfindel moved beside her and took her hand. He could not have told why he was doing, or what that strange tingle that ran up his hand was, that was so pleasurable to his fëa.  
Seeing that the Elf- Lord took her by the hand, Laura stiffened and turned her face sharply to him, only to be stunned at his proximity.   
"Why did you do it?" Glorfindel asked again  
Laura turned her face to the grass once more. "I do not know." She shrugged. "I only knew…I thought, I felt it was the right thing to do. I only knew and felt that I should help you and show you support. I did not know how--I'm very clumsy, and nobody cares or likes or accepts my help. They all run from me and if I help them, they push me aside; but ... why in spite of that did I try to help? I do not know. I guess because you've always been there, in difficult times. Sometimes you are very annoying, but I cannot deny that if there is someone who has shown me kindness, it is you. I thought the least I could do was to stay with you and keep you company, and not talk to you because nothing good would come out of my mouth.” she paused. "I hope I have not screwed it again "she murmured, tears welling in her eyes as she had remembered how many times her good deeds had been mocked and judged.   
She felt the Elf-lord squeezed her hand gently. A sensation ran through her entire hand and arm, all the way to her mind and, most strangely, to her heart. Laura frowned inwardly, who knows what that meant? Maybe it was something Elves did when they were showing gratitude...  
"Hwa -Young, I do not know why you have been put aside and judged when you have helped others, but I will not," he said softly "What you did for me….I do not have a way to thank you for it.”   
Laura looked up then, seeking the truth in his blue eyes.  
"I'm not going to be like those other people who have misjudged you," he continued. "I know you are a noble person, I know you suffered a lot, and that is why you are so aggressive; but what you did has only reaffirmed my opinion about you, and it encourages me to keep working to know you, no matter how long it takes me. Do not fear, Hwa-Young. Do you forgive me?” And for some reason he did not understand until many years later, he grasped her hand. Once again that tingle was felt, running up until it touched his fëa as if it were the soft touch of a feather falling. He frowned, not understanding and glanced quickly to see if she had felt it too but seeing that Laura had not made any gesture, he decided to ignore it.   
“Ok,” she said. “You’re forgiven… Blondie!”  
Glorfindel looked at her in astonishment. Apparently, now she was going to revenge herself by insulting him. He was going remind her of the agreement when in the light of the stars, he saw something in her eyes something he had never imagined: a playful gleam in the intelligent green, and laughed instead. “Very well, I will give you that one. This time, I deserved it.” 

¹ Little Fairy   
² Quenya masculine noun for "friend".


	24. A true friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new relationship... not of love but between two very close friends that will help to the Princess to overcome the problem with her father and keep going.

Chapter 24: A True Friend

Melimë's voice was a distant echo in the ears of Princess Idril, who sat in the recess of the oriel window, watching the tumlótëa blossoms.   
That morning, she had met Lord Galdor and Lord Egalmoth. Despite their respectful greeting, she could not help noticing that both were greatly disturbed, notwithstanding their attempts to conceal it. It had not been difficult for her to perceive their agitation. She was extremely insightful; a skill inherited from her father, the High King of the Noldor and, above all, from her mother, the departed High-Queen Elenwë.  
They were not hostile towards each other, and it took a great thing to disturb their quiet tempers.   
At another time, she would have asked her father, but not now. Too many shadows lay between Turgon and herself: grief and anger and disappointment. His words had cut her deeply and renewed the longing for her mother. If Elenwë had not perished, Turgon would not be so blind, not dwell so much in the past. He would see and act. No one could make Turgon reflect or stop his course, no one but Elenwë.  
Her nimble mind flitted again and again to what could have caused that great disturbance to those two Lords, and for that reason, she had caused Melimë to read poetry, so she could be alone with her thoughts. 

***

Vendelle glanced at the Princess again, only half-listening to Melimë's reading.   
She was one of the few ladies-in-waiting of the Celebrindal. The Princess did not care to be surrounded, so Vendelle, Elyéta, and Melimë were her only companions.  
Melimë, the eldest of Idril's companions, had been wed in Valinor, long before the Flight of the Noldor to Norcalimo, and was the mother of Ninya and Nessawën. Her children were the delight of the palace: pretty, intelligent and mischievous. While Melimë was the lady-in-waiting to the Princess, Norcalimo was the leader of the Tirolea, a company of Quendi responsible for planting and harvesting Kementári's gift. Norcalimo was well known for his excellent leadership and the ease with which he handled growing things, while Melimë was known for the beauty of her voice. Her voice was rapturous, soft and sweet with throbbing undertones like plucked harp strings so that the Celebrindal loved to hear her read some poem or story, or recite a legend.  
Elyéta was the youngest of the ladies-in-waiting, a was a dark and slender beauty, pale as white cream. Wisdom and determination hid behind her shyness. Her brother Linwe was noted for his skill with Music, especially with the lyre, and his songs were known for their beauty and talent, so much so that Lord Ecthelion had congratulated him several times. Elyéta's chosen art was painting, and she had an unparalleled talent in that regard. Her work was so beautiful and lifelike that observers thought they were real at first. Elyéta also had a beautiful voice, but it paled in comparison to her brother's, which was pure and harmonious, of immense power and lofty eloquence.   
Unlike her fellows, she had never had eyes for any ellon save her brother, who protected her jealously. In that, the Celebrindal envied her young companion, for Linwe was not only protective towards his little sister, he was also very insightful and knew when there was a danger, and would be willing to die to protect Elyéta. Idril was certain that Linwe, even though had no training, would willingly fight to save his sister.  
Vendelle was as her name suggested, shorter in stature compared to her kin, the Noldor. She was quiet, but not shy, preferring silence so she could think, with a clever, whimsical face and wore her hair a coil of intricate braids bound with clasps of gold. Unlike Elyéta, who was an ingenuous dreamer; Vendelle saw the world through eyes filled with common sense and prudence. She was betrothed to Ermehtar, a member of the House of the Heavenly Arch. He was a soldier close to Lord Egalmoth, who had noticed in him the spirit of a leader and a clear mind during the din of battle. It was his clear-headedness that Vendelle loved most about Ermehtar, with whom she would marry in the first months of the following year.

***

"What is the trouble, Vendelle?" asked the Celebrindal suddenly. Vendelle searched for words, confused by the unforeseen question; while Melimë stopped at her reading.  
" My lady?" she finally asked.   
"You have been observing me for a time," Idril said, turning her gaze towards Vendelle at last.  
Vendelle met her gaze calmly. She was one of the rare few who could withstand Idril's eyes, which possessed a remarkable penetration and prescience, and at this moment, demanded an answer.   
"I saw you are very thoughtful, my lady," Vendelle answered. "Indeed, I believe you directed Melimë to read so that you can ponder on whatever concerns you, without interruptions."  
Melimë and Elyéta glanced at each other. They, too, had seen the attitude of their mistress, but they had preferred to remain silent.   
Idril studied Vendelle for a minute, her mind, bright and wonderful as the eyes behind which it lay, considering her courses of action. Vendelle's betrothed was very close in counsel to Lord Egalmoth. Maybe she knew through Ermehtar what had befallen the Treasurer.   
"You are right, Vendelle," she answered at last. "Something worries me greatly."  
" And what is it, if I may know it, my lady?"   
"I have ... noticed that Lord Galdor and Lord Egalmoth are disturbed, to an extent they cannot conceal. And I was wondering if Ermehtar knows something."   
Vendelle remained thoughtful for a moment. She knew she could not hide anything from her lady, and perhaps Idril could calm Egalmoth.   
"It is true that Lord Egalmoth has been in an ill mood for a few days," she said. "Ermehtar does not know what befell him, but he thinks it concerns..." Vendelle paused, searching for some finesse. With another, she would not have minded saying it outright, but it was the Princess and the subject was delicate "The King and Lord Salgant." she ended softly.   
Elyéta winced for Idril, knowing who lay behind this warmongering.   
"Are you certain?" Idril asked.   
"If it had to do with the Prince, I do not know. Ermehtar only knows that Lord Egalmoth is not well-disposed to Lord Salgant, whom he has avoided since the Council."   
Idril's finely-sculpted face as inscrutable as a stone mask, while she cursed Maeglin in her heart. "Have you noted something different?" she asked after a few minutes, her tones as gently fascinating as ever.   
"My daughters tried to play with Lord Glorfindel." Offered Melimë "You know, my lady, that he is a light-hearted Lord, and from time to time he plays with my daughters; but this day he refused."  
"If it was in the morning, of course, it would be so," said Vendelle. "The Golden Flower guards the Main Gate today.  
"That is so," Melimë agreed, "But they asked him during the afternoon, once his House had handed over the guard to the House of the Pillar. Then they told me that they had wanted to play with Lord Ecthelion but seeing that he was busy writing such a sad melody, they decided to play alone."   
Idril said nothing. She had known Ecthelion from her earliest childhood when he was so bound up in his music, it was because something had happened to him, something complex or painful.   
" And you, Elyéta?” Melimë asked, with a significant smile on her lips. " I have noticed that you were in the company of Lord Duilin."   
The young Nolde blushed and hung her head. Vendelle raised an eyebrow, while the Princess tilted her head, interested in Melimë's comment. Her tone left much room for different interpretations and insinuations.  
"Indeed?" Asked Vendelle. "I hope it was not difficult. He has a quick temper."   
"Without a doubt," Melimë answered without pausing to observe Elyéta, who swallowed hard, not daring to look up.  
The Silverfoot realized that there was something that Melimë knew, But that was not the time to reveal secrets, but to know what had happened between the Lords.   
" Did you observe something strange in Lord Duilin, Elyéta?" She asked sweetly, hoping to rid her lady-in-waiting of her shyness of being accompanied by the Swallow.   
The young Elf-maid remained indecisive. What would he think if she told them that she had found him disturbed and at first, angry? But, like Vendelle, she knew she could not hide anything from the Princess, so she decided to tell the truth.  
"Yes," she replied, nodding several times and swallowing hard. "He was not....in a good humor......he....he was very disturbed."   
"He did not tell you the reason?"  
Elyéta shook her head. "He told me that it was not important."  
Idril frowned. All the Lords had been affected. There was only one way to know what had happened and if her instinct was correct: her father, had criticized them on Maeglin's behalf. If so, she had to remedy, as soon as possible, the disaster that that miserable Bastard Prince had brought about.

***

The Lords of Gondolin were gathered in the Princess' pleasure-garden, all save Salgant, Maeglin, and the King. There was silence, each busy with their own thoughts. The Celebrindal had sent messages to them through her ladies-in-waiting, enjoining secrecy.   
All the Lords respected the Princess deeply, and some, like Glorfindel and, above all, Ecthelion, loved her dearly. All Gondolin recognized her qualities, her beauty, her wisdom and her kind temper, and also her strength. But she had never summoned them secretly before, and that caused surprise and confusion. What did the Silverfoot desire to tell them? 

***

Idril's POV  
' My father has indeed arraigned the Lords unfairly and humiliated them as well. He is a wise King, who measures his words and his deeds. It is thanks to his foresight and the sharpness of thought that we have lived so far, hidden from the Unnamed.  
But I also know that when he is enraged, he says the most biting words, the most humiliating phrases. He did it with me when I told him of Maeglin's true intentions towards me, and that I am his daughter. How much more terrible must it have been for those who are not his children!   
Ah! Now that I see them all together, each with questions in their eyes directed towards me, I cannot but feel admiration and respect for each.  
They are different, one and all, and yet somehow, they are all worthy of regard. From quick-tempered Rog and Duilin, to gentle Ecthelion and Egalmoth, from hot-headed Glorfindel and composed Galdor and Penlod, they are each honorable.  
Their bearing is quick, dignified and firm, as firm as the most experienced and brave warrior, worthy of the highest Lords. And it does not surprise me for that is what they are: brave and war-wise fighters I have known since infanthood. They are all fierce, clever and fearless in the face of danger. Rather, they confront it with their heads held high, willing to lay down their lives for that which they have sworn to protect: my father, the city, me.  
They are all intelligent, chivalrous, and kind. Even with Duilin, as swift with his anger as he is with his feet, has maintained respect towards me, despite his disturbance. And not only with me, but also with Elyéta.  
I do not understand, then, how my father is able to believe Maeglin's slander towards those whose only fault has been protecting me. I do not understand how my father prefers his libel over his Lords' truth, who I see bowing in elegant reverence as a symbol of respect and obedience. I do not understand how my father cannot see this, if I, being much younger, understand that there is no one in all of Ennor who I can trust so much, if not with these Lords, worthy of the admiration of Artanis herself.  
It is imperative that I speak with them and remove from them the humiliation my father gave them. They do not deserve it, rather, they are worthy of admiration and respect. My father has his judgment clouded by the absurd love he bears towards Maeglin, but if he cannot see what the Dark-Elf's son does, I do, and as Princess of Gondolin, and of the Noldor, it is my duty to amend the error.’ 

***

" My Lords." The Celebrindal greeted those gathered in her garden with a slight bow of her beautiful head  
Immediately, all Lords bowed in answer, with gallant and respectful devotion.  
The Princess descended the wind marble staircase, with all the grace of some airy sylph, and a beauty that could have well approached Elù Thingol’s daughter, who, had they but known, was but three years from accomplishing what even the High-King of the Noldor could not. The autumn sun made her golden head shine so that her hair fell in waves of pure gold, the beauty of which could only be rivaled by Glorfindel. Her skin was pale and flawless, delicate as the softest rose-petal, showing eternal youth. Her brilliant eyes, so blue and bright they seemed to have a starry sky ensnared within, were piercing, filled with intelligence and wisdom that went beyond her years, and her every look a rebuke to all that was false and vile.  
She walked softly: her slender body a rush in the wind, and it seemed that she glided like a swan. She wore no sumptuous dress, only simple white, but its cut was reminiscent of flight and was worthy of some forgotten Maia-Queen. But the Golden Rose of Gondolin was wrought with steel, and all the more beautiful for her strength.   
She stopped at the landing on the stairs, where lilies and lupine-blossoms blossomed around her feet, and the Lords awaited her words.   
Idril began at once, with a quiet intentness in her voice. “You are wondering why I have called you to a secret meeting, and you would do well to wonder. You are greatly disturbed, each of you, my Lords, and it makes me wonder what has happened. It makes me wonder whether it has to do with my father, the King.” She paused and saw the Lords flinch, a reaffirmation of her conclusion. “Tell me, my Lords. I ask you to tell me the truth……what happened?”   
There was a moment of silence. Why recount that humiliating and frustrating moment? It would only be to reopen the wound given to their pride and honor. But they also knew that the Princess would not be left without an answer. Finally, it was Lord Galdor who spoke.  
"Indeed, my lady, it was as you guessed. Yesterday we had a Council with the King.”   
"And for what reason?"  
"It was linked with Lord Maeglin,” Duilin answered abruptly.   
Idril looked at them in silence. When they had heard Maeglin’s name, each had made some gesture of disgust, or of anger. "And what did he say, my lords? " She asked.   
The silence lay heavy. Telling the Princess was tandem to accusing the High King of the Noldor, and they would never speak a single word against him.  
" Lords of Gondolin, I implore you by the Válar to tell me the truth!” she beseeched. It would a heart of stone that could have withstood the look she cast them.   
"Lord Maeglin raised slander against us," Penlod replied at last. "He avowed we had mistreated and patronized him.” His fists clenched at the unfair accusation. “He avowed we shun him and were in collusion against him.”   
"The King also said that Lord Maeglin had told him that we intruded every time he attempted to strengthen the family relationship with you,” added Egalmoth.   
"That is what Maeglin said!" Idril exclaimed, in painful and furious surprise  
"That is so, my lady.”   
Idril’s eyes were bright with anger, and this did not pass unnoticed. Rog spoke up, his voice unusually soft and gentle. “My Lady. My Lady, do not fear. We understand the King had troubles weighing-”  
The Princess waved her hand, gesturing for silence. A gesture of her father. "That does not justify his words, Lord Rog," she answered scornfully. The scorn was not directed at them, but at her father's treatment of them. “He should realize that you have been the ones protected me against the bastard child of the Wife-Slayer.”   
There was a murmur of surprise at her words. Idril regained quick control over herself. “Lord Ecthelion, Lord Glorfindel, you have not shared your opinion, although your faces tell my father was no kinder to you. What did he tell you? "  
Glorfindel looked away, angry and humiliated. If he was not careful, he would speak against Aredhel, the aunt of Idril, and that was nothing lordly. Lord Ecthelion, able to remain calm, even when he felt frustrated and humiliated to the crux of his heart, held the Celebrindal’s eyes and answered softly. “So it was. The King reminded us of our failure to protect the Huntress, Princess Irissë, and believes that it was only we who were to blame for the misfortune that befell her.”  
‘Only’ carried the clear connotation of Ecthelion’s true thoughts, and the Celebrindal could not help but feel pain and anger. She knew what had been the failure of those brave two, but she also knew that her aunt had chosen a course, and could no more be stayed from it then the sea could be dammed. She felt her throat tighten at the memory of Aredhel, the one who had taught her to ride and shoot. If she had been alone, she would have burst into sobs; but she was not alone, and she had to show herself as the High-Princess, worthy of her parents.   
"He also told us that we were patronizing Lord Maeglin," Glorfindel added, his blue eyes shining with anger, “It was our own fault that he was suffering, and if he treated us ill we deserved it.”   
Idril frowned. "What about Lord Salgant?" She asked after a moment.   
There was menace in Duilin’s face and Rog’s eyes.   
"Lord Salgant?" asked Rog, with a snort of disdain. “He sided with Lord Maeglin: the weak one that he is.”   
"Like his skill with the sword," Duilin added mockingly.  
Penlod and Egalmoth smiled slightly, and Idril tilted her golden head, thus asking what had happened.  
"I defeated him, my Lady,” said Duilin. “And if I had been allowed to do him more damage than to his pride, maybe we would have been saved a serious humiliation.” he ended darkly.   
The Princess nodded slowly. She knew the quick-tempered Lord and had already envisioned Salgant’s painful defeat.   
There was a long moment of silence, then, where she observed each Lord, her nimble mind, and wise heart searched for the best words to mitigate the error that her father had made because of his blind love for his sister-son.   
" My Lords, "she began." It grieves me to know that such a thing has befallen you and that my father said such unfortunate words. I am sorry that I am the cause of the king's wrath ... "  
"There is nothing to excuse, my lady," said Lord Galdor.   
Idril made an authoritative gesture with her hand, but the slight smile and lambent glimmer of kindness in her eyes showed her not only worthy of the daughter of the High King but also as one with a noble heart and a clear understanding.   
"I know, Lord Galdor, I know," she said, "But let me speak for a moment. It is clear now more than ever that Lord Maeglin has a greater influence than we imagined over the king. Therefore, I beg all of you, Lords of Gondolin, to forget the offense received and I also beg you to accept my apology. I do not do it only for myself, or for the High-King, but for all Gondolin. I ask you, for the Válar, to put aside the resentment that you have for Maeglin, for then he will not be able to attack us. It is necessary for you to show obedience and set aside this sad incident because only then, you can continue to have a little influence in the Council, something very necessary if we desire reason in our city.”   
They looked at the young Princess, who had spoken with a wisdom that very few could match, and answered: "Your wishes are our orders, my Lady.”   
" My lady," Rog said after a few moments. “Now that you have spoken, let us now say a word. "  
The Celebrindal nodded.  
"We will do as you have asked. Our anger has been caused by the humiliation and affront, but we have never dreamed of turning our backs on our King. But we know it is not only us that have suffered because of Lord Maeglin.” He paused, and Idril nodded slowly, to hide the anguish that it caused her. "Well, I assure you, that I and all my fellows are ready to face the wrath of the King if that is what it takes to protect you. Whenever you wish to be free of Maeglin, you only have to look at us, and we will come.”   
The other Lords, upon hearing this, swore with heart in their voices that their loyalty and protection to her would never be lacking. The Silverfoot looked grateful and nodded slowly. As a Queen, she kept her composure even when she was suffering.   
"Thanks, my lords," she said earnestly, struggling to keep the tears from falling. "I appreciate your oath more than you can know, for now, I am doubly assured of the protection of the noblest Lords in Ennor.”   
There were soft murmurs of appreciation and smiles. The kind words of the Celebrindal were like balm on the wound her father had inflicted.   
"Well, my Lords,” she said after a pause. “We each have our obligations, and I do not wish to keep you from them any longer. Have a blessed day and once again, I beg you not to say a word about this meeting.”   
The Lords swore by their honor that they would say nothing about this and departed……all save Lord Ecthelion.

***

Lord Ecthelion's POV

'Idril surprised me much and more. I know that the situation is not straightforward: I only need to look into her eyes to see it. She knows how to hide her feelings, as well as her mother, used to; but ... for me, who knew her since she was a babe, I see that underneath this mask of regality and face of authority, there is a maiden suffering, valiantly supporting the weight of Turgon’s failure both as a king and a father, and this hounding to which she is subjected.   
I know she will never tell anyone of this if I do not ask her. She will take strength from her weakness and move forward. But I know her, I know well this child that I cared for while the King mourned for his wife; and I know that unless I ask her, she will not say a word, but she will save her anguish, anger, and frustration for herself. And I ... I cannot allow such a thing to happen, and put this little one through such misery.’ 

***  
When she saw that Ecthelion did not depart, she tilted her head and sighed artfully. It was an attitude and manner, an off-hand mummery that Ecthelion recognized as Idril at her most insecure. “My Lord Ecthelion,” she asked coolly. “Is something wrong?”   
"I was going to put the same question to you, my Lady,” he answered, holding her gaze. "Are you well?”   
"Yes, my lord," she answered, raising her chin proudly. “And if I remember aright I dismissed all of you."  
Ecthelion ignored the second part of the sentence, fixing his penetrating grey gaze on the young Princess. “What is, Lindil?” he asked softly.   
Hearing the pet-name, Idril looked away. The tears controlled during the hearing with the Lords were now impossible to stop and, much against her grief, they began to roll down her cheeks. A barely audible sob escaped her lips.   
The brave and majestic Princess of the Noldor was transformed before Ecthelion's eyes into a maiden frail and delicate, filled with fear and anguish, for the first time in her life feeling helpless and lost and alone.   
"Linheru!" She murmured, looking up and fixing her tear-filled gaze on Ecthelion, who no longer saw Princess Idril Celebrindal, the Flower, and Pearl of Gondolin; but he saw the little child who had just lost her mother, and sought refuge and solace in him. He embraced her as he used to do in those days, and the Silverfoot hid her head against his chest and wept.   
They stood thus for a long time, the only sound the Princess’ crying. Ecthelion did not say a word. Why say it? She needed to feel safe, she needed refuge from the trouble. If she wanted to talk, he would listen to her. But if all she wanted was to cry, he would be there too, just as he had done several hundred years ago, when the Pearl of Gondolin was just a babe.  
Idril’s weeping slowly died away until only soft sobs were heard. She pulled away from him slightly and looked up. In her blue eyes, he could read desolation, sadness, and frustration. Whereas in him she could see understanding and kindness, as well as the love he had for the one whom he had helped raise.  
"What do I do?" She whispered, in a voice so low it seemed like a sigh. "I do not know what to do."  
That question was absurd. A moment ago, she had displayed a clear and lucid mind, showing a wisdom that exceeded the number of years of life she was, sure of her answers ... and suddenly ... she was wondering what to do?  
"I know I must be strong. I know that my father relies on me. I know that I must be a worthy daughter of the High King. But what do I do? What do I do with Maeglin! " She ended in despair. “My father does not believe me! on the contrary, he got angry when I told him the truth; and as if that were not enough, you have also been treated unjustly!” She paused and looked at him with pleading eyes. “What should I do, Linheru? "  
"You already did what you should have done, little Lindil," he answered. “You have spoken to all of us and with your wise words you have consoled our hearts and healed the wound dealt to our honor and pride.”   
Idril pulled away and began pace fiercely. "It is the least I could do," she said. “Do you know my father said Maeglin was wiser than me. If he was, I would bear no grudge…….but he is Maeglin, he is the son of the Wife-Slayer. And it is not for his blood that I dislike him, you know that! But he is….dark, like his father before him, and yet my father holds him in greater esteem than me or you!”   
"You are wise, Lindil," Ecthelion replied, a smile softening his face. “Like your mother.”  
"But I'm not her!" Exclaimed Idril, stopping suddenly, and tears returned to her eyes. "I'm not her! My father tells me again and again that I am like my mother, but I'm not her! And I never will be! "She paused, her desperation increasing, and she sank to the floor, hiding her face in her hands. " Oh, Válar! Why is such a heavy burden imposed on me? Why everyone expects me to be like my mother! Why!” Once again, sobs drowned the last words.  
Lord Ecthelion looked at her for a moment, sadness read in his gray eyes. For as long as he could remember, Idril had always been compared to her mother, both because of her beauty and because of her keen foresight. That had always been difficult for her. The knowledge, the realization, the discernment of the thoughts of others from such a tender age was something hard to bear. And many times, she had confessed it with tears in her eyes. He approached her slowly and placed a gentle hand on her shaking shoulder.  
"Lindil," he called softly, gently raising her to her feet. "Lindil, you are not your mother, nor should you be like your mother."   
Idril took a shuddering breath.   
“No. You are not Elenwë, you are Idril Celebrindal. And while you look as her and you have a gift of foresight very similar to hers, it is no less true that you are your own person. You have not lived the life of your mother. She dwelt most of her life in Válinor; you, on the other hand, have lived in Ennor. You know the horrors that are caused by the evil of Unnamed One, you have seen children of Men and you have dealt with them, you have helped to build a city. You are illimitable, Idril. Do not seek to be your mother, be yourself: Idril Silverfoot. Neither try to live up to the glorified image of your mother. Find happiness in you are you are, and your life will be more beautiful than anything you can dream. Use your mother’s life as an example, but only like that: as an example.”   
"And Maeglin?" She asked, growing calmer. “Since he arrived it has been a plague for Gondolin, and, it will get graver as he gains more influence over my father.”   
"Indeed. But in this situation, nobody has more power than you.”   
"I!” exclaimed Idril, her voice once again filled with fear and insecurity. "My father does not even listen to me! You would know that if you had seen his face when I told him…..him about Maeglin  
Lord Ecthelion watched her sadly. It was clear that she was offended and hurt. But he also knew that Turgon loved his daughter very much, and that while he may have been cruel to her at the time, it was no less true that he was also suffering from the argument that they had had, and that, the Council he had had with Lords pertained to the dispute between father and daughter.  
"Lindil," he said gently. What he was going to advise was not easy. “Lindil, you must speak to your father, and try and regain the relationship-”   
"But-" She exclaimed, her face blushing with anger.  
Ecthelion made a very particular gesture, a gesture he used to make when she was a child and which indicated that she must keep silent for a moment.  
"I know it will be hard, but only you have enough influence over the King. We will certainly do what you have asked us to do; but no matter how hard we try, we will never have the same weight as Maeglin. But you are the King’s daughter, you remind him of his wife, you are the only one who can take stock of the Council and make the king change his mind in the event that Lord Maeglin advises something imprudence.” Seeing her gaze was suspicious, he continued. “I am not warmongering, Lindil. This is not a battle of power, because such a thing would bring about our downfall. No, it is about maintaining a balance in the Council. If Lord Maeglin is given full influence, it will culminate in him making a mistake, an error that could cost the city dearly, but if the king has another voice that he knows is wise and knows that he can trust, then that voice will be the one that returns him to reason. Was not it you who had the idea of dealing with Hwa- Young? If it were not for that, she would not have learned our language, and we would still be waiting for the answers we needed.”   
The Celebrindal was silent for a long time, her gaze fixed on the marble floor, meditating on the words of her best friend.  
" And you will be with me, Velindo? You will not leave me?” She implored, lifting pleading eyes.   
Ecthelion smiled. Those questions were what the Princess used to ask when she was a frightened child! She had asked them so many times! When she realized her mother would never come again, when her father could do nothing but mourn his life, when she was frightened of a thunderstorm, when she had dreamed of dying in the Helcaraxë; when she had heard the arguments between Turgon and Aredhel, she had been afraid and lonely, and it was he who had comforted her and stayed with her singing and teaching her to play the harp. Yes, those two simple questions brought hundreds of memories to his mind, and he drew her to himself and embraced her as if she was still a child.  
"Of course, little one. I will never leave you, Nilenda.” 

Lindil-Rain Friend   
Linheru--Music Master   
Nilenda-Kind Heart   
Velindo--Great Heart


	25. Father and daughter

Chapter 25: Father and Daughter

Years of the Trees 1469: Tirión, Válinor

Turgon sat on the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped securely around his wife. She was shuddering convulsively, her fingers--surprisingly strong--clutching at his enfolding forearms. He would have marks there for several days after.   
He breathed carefully, rhythmically, focusing on details to take the tension from his mind so she could take strength from him. Hair had fallen from her braid, and it tickled his throat.   
“The passage is fully open now, my lady,” Nostáma said from her seat between Elenwë’s legs. She looked up with an encouraging smile. “Don’t fight the pain anymore. Bear down and push. Not long now.”   
Elenwë gave a muffled scream as the next contraction hit and then slumped against him bonelessly. He kissed the top of her golden head.   
“You’re doing beautifully, my love.”   
“Be quiet,” she gasped. “You’re the one who got me into this.”   
Then she tensed again with the fierce body desire to bring something into the world and shouted something as muscles contracted and tissue ripped.   
“I have the head!” Nostáma said. “One more push!”   
A deep groan came from inside Elenwë, like the creaking of a tree in a gale. Her whole body grew rigid, then relaxed. Turgon craned his neck to see, but her head was blocking his view.  
Then a piercing wail split the afternoon silence, and something inside him crumbled.   
Nostáma’s helpers sprang into life as Elenwë sagged against him, and finally, Nostáma lifted a white-wrapped bundle into Elenwë’s open arms.   
It’s a girl, Turgon thought, then wondered, How did I know that?   
He stared down at the new face over his wife’s shoulder. The eyes were bright blue, her head covered with a golden down. The rosebud mouth opened and closed soundlessly.   
She’s hungry, Turgon thought again, and at the same time, Elenwë pulled aside the fabric of her shift but seemed unsure of how to continue. Nostáma showed her how to support the infant’s head while feeding, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.   
A warm surge of protective love filled Turgon as he watched his tiny daughter feed. When she finished, Elenwë lay down on the pillows, the sleeping baby beside her.   
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You did so well.”   
“I had the easy task,” He answered, caressing her hand. “You did it all, melamin.” She smiled sleepily, and his gaze returned to his daughter. Her eyes were almost closed, her lashes half-moons on her face.   
“Itarillë?” he asked.   
Elenwë stirred, then that beautiful smile returned to her face. “Idril,” she repeated. “Yes, Itarillë. Radiance.”   
“She will be radiant,” he said.   
“But strong as a warrior and wise as few,” Elenwë answered.   
Turgon looked at his wife. He knew that she had the gift of foresight. Then he stood up. Pins and needles stabbed his legs and back as he bent to kiss first his wife, then his daughter.   
“Try and get some rest,” he urged her. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.” 

***

Eight months later 

“La la lu, la la lu  
Oh, my Little star sweeper  
I’ll sweep the stardust for you.

La lu, la la lu  
Little soft fluffy sleeper  
Here comes a pink cloud for you

La la lu, la la lu  
Little wandering ángel  
Fold up your wings and close your eyes

La la lu, la la lu  
And may Love be your keeper  
La la lu, la la lu, la la lu.” 

Itarillë was already asleep, her tiny hand curled around one of her mother’s fingers as she lay in the crib. Elenwë withdrew her finger gently and went to stand by her husband.   
“She always goes to sleep for you,” he told her with a smile.   
"Mothers have that gift," she whispered up at him, but it seemed a cloud covered her beautiful face. “But you should learn it too.”   
"Without a doubt," Turgon answered, taking his wife’s hand. “Shall we walk while the stars are out?”   
They wandered through the white city, in those few, fleeting hours when neither the Gold Tree or the Silver Tree shone, but only the stars lit Valinor until they came to a grassy hill on the outskirts of Tirión, that was covered with ninlòs blossoms. Turgon picked some and offered them silently to his wife. Elenwë smiled and took the azure flowers, that crested to a pale, blue-streaked center.   
"What worries you, my husband?" She asked him, as the silence grew strained. Turgon lifted his eyes to hers. They were grey as agates and set.   
“I am going,” he said simply, and with those three words, Elenwë felt the world spin out under her feet, leaving her to fall in space. So her husband had also been infected with the poison of Fëanáro: the leaving of Válinor to found kingdoms for themselves, kingdoms that would be their own, kingdoms where they would have to give account to no one. And Elenwë knew it very well.  
"But why go, Turukanò?" She asked, grasping for words in the dark. "Here we have everything. The blessing of the Válar is upon us. We have peace, Turukanò, we have tranquility. What do you look for in Ennor?”   
“We have those things…we have blessings, we have peace, and we are ruled over,” he said impatiently.   
She closed her eyes and saw dead swans. When she opened them, he was still speaking.   
“We cannot govern our own lives, Elenwë. We cannot found our own kingdoms because Their kingdoms are already founded here. We are children in their eyes……nothing more!”   
"Turgon," she said slowly. “You could found kingdoms in Ennor, but they would be shortlived ones. The Válar have forbidden us to leave because there is darkness on the other side.”   
"Or maybe they want us to be under their yoke," he answered.  
She knew that nothing would change his mind. She was helpless, helpless as silken words and iron will drove her people to a forsaken shore. But she had to try.   
"Turgon, think the course you are on. Your decision will change my life and yours, but it will also change Idril’s. Are you willing to let your daughter---your daughter who cannot yet walk--face peril that you cannot know?!” Her voice was hot, and it quenched some of Turgon’s fire. He sat pensively for a minute, and then said, “I will go first, and send a ship for you and Itarillë when our home is built.”   
“And you will go Fëanáro and his sons!” she flamed hotly. “He cares for nothing but the jewels! You and yours……they will be alone!”   
“Elenwë,” he said, cupping her cheek with his hand. “You do not need to come. Stay behind… forever, if you desire. It is your choice.”   
Her laugh was like broken glass in her throat.   
“Stay behind! I go where you go, Turukanò because you are mine! No, I will come with you, but remember you are a Prince, and a Prince can risk his own life, but he will also risk a hundred more by doing so!”   
“I will remember,” he said softly and rose. 

***

They walked, drowned in cold, drowned in darkness, shut out because they had locked the gates behind them.   
Elenwë went silently, her daughter in her arms as she climbed over the tumbling and shifting ice. Írissë, sister-by-marriage walked behind her, equally silent. Elenwë knew she would carry Itarillë readily, but she was loath to give up her daughter, although her arms seemed to be weighted down with boulders.   
She felt her husband’s presence before she heard his voice ask,   
“How is Itarillë?”   
Elenwë turned to meet his eyes: his dark lashes and brows coated with snow. “Cold,” she answered, opening the outer cloak a little so he could see his daughter.   
“This will end soon, Elenwë,” he said. “And our daughter will be a princess and in our kingdom.”   
“In your own kingdom,” she answered in a low voice. "I have followed you," she continued, "because the day we joined, I promised you that we would always be one."  
"And we always will be, my love," he said, "Now, I must go and see that the others are well"  
"Turgon" she called after him. "Promise me you'll be a good father to our little Itarillë!"  
Turgon stopped, surprised, and then turned to face his wife.   
"Always," he promised  
Elenwë nodded, smiling. But when Turgon turned his back, the fear on her face returned.

***

The wind had risen while they rested, and the ice groaned underneath their feet like a beast in pain.   
Elenwë walked slowly, half-asleep, a walking dream of prisons of ice and crowns of gold. The groan of the ice had become a constant noise now: it creaked and shifted and promised ruin. It was like a great door swinging closed beneath her feet, and in her daze, it was a door, the door to Valinor, closing again and again.   
There was a sharp, piercing cacophony then, a roar of thunder, and she felt the ice begin to fall away beneath her feet.   
“Amil?” It was Itarillë’s tiny, terrified voice that jerked into an awful reality. She was alone, in the center of a funnel-shaped hollow that was deepening by the second. She looked around and saw horrified eyes watching her as they stood on the rim.   
I’m going to die. The thought was so stupendous, so ludicrous it had to be true. At any moment the ice was going crashing down under her feet, and she would go with it.   
“Take her!” she screamed, holding out Itarillë to the frozen statues above her. “Take her!”   
She saw Ecthelion then, coming slowly towards her, hands outstretched, a rope tied to his waist. His clear, musical voice was calm, but she felt the pulse of urgency beneath it.   
“Elenwë, stay still. I’m coming.”   
“Take her!” she screamed again. “Take her!”   
He was sliding down the hollow now……..six feet……..five feet……almost an arm’s distance from her….and the ice broke into a thousand pieces beneath her feet. She felt Itarillë being jerked from her arms, and she heard Turgon scream as the cold waters rushed up to embrace her. They enfolded her in a mummery of love, taking her down, down, down under the ice.   
Down into darkness. 

***

The wild weeping of Turgon was joined by Itarillë. Ecthelion took the sobbing child went to his lord, who was staring down at the rushing water where his wife had stood.   
“Turukanò,” he said softly. “Look.”   
Turgon raised crazed eyes but Ecthelion pushed Idril into his arms. “Do not look for death, my Lord,” he said softly. “Live because there are those who need you yet."

***

The tears did not let Turgon see for a long time, blinding to him the daughter he had to love. It was Ecthelion who had, in the first wild rage of Turgon's grief, cared of the little Idril.   
But it was still Turgon who had to take his daughter in his arms, and answer when she had asked, “Atar, where's Amil?”

***

“Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? '  
It echoed in his ears, the voice of his daughter asking again and again for Elenwë, without understanding that she would never see her again.  
His eyes filled with tears, the phrase continued to resound incessantly in his mind:  
"Atar…?"

***

Forty-two years before the Fall of Gondolin

“Atar? Atar?”   
Finally, Turgon turned, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gave free rein to the pain that had eaten him for centuries. Through blurred vision, he saw a tall lady with golden hair, dressed in white, and so full of light and joy he cried out in joy. “Elenwë! Elenwë!”   
Idril felt her chest constrict, a gasp of pain escaping her closed lips. She was not her mother………she never had been, but to her father, she was the surrogate to fill the void Elenwë had left. But her voice was sweet when she answered,   
“No, Atto. It is I, Idril, your daughter.”   
Turgon shook his head to clear the vision and saw his daughter, his only daughter.  
"Forgive me, Itarillë," he said, holding her tightly "Forgive me."  
The Celebrindal felt tears come to her eyes.   
"Why, Atar?" She asked, returning the embrace.  
"For everything, daughter, for everything!" He stepped back and took her by the shoulders. "I have not been a good father! After her death, I forgot you and it is only because the Válar are good is that you have forgiven me. I took you to war with me and I ignored you when you asked for my shield.” He hugged her again. "Oh, my little daughter, can you forgive this useless father?"  
Idril threw her arms around his neck, tears rolling freely down her cheeks.   
“There is nothing to forgive!” she sobbed. “Only remember me now. I am your daughter, Atar, please ... give me that chance."  
The King wiped the tears from her eyes, and for a moment, he thought he saw his beloved Elenwë in her.   
"It is I must ask for that, Idril. I will speak to Maeglin, I swear on my life. After all, you are also my family, my daughter ... the only gift I have from your mother.”


	26. Amon-Ra, Amon-Dai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things will start to happen between Lord Glorfindel and Laura, what are they exactly?

Chapter 26: Amon-Ra, Amon-Dai

"Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight  
The stars are stretching far as sight   
O, though time and world are in flight   
There is peace in the cradle of twilight.  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
Silver and violet so dusky sweet  
Time when night and day do meet   
Stars are spinning, shining bright   
In the soft cradle of pale twilight  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
The gold fades, the silver grows   
An enchanted dusk over us flows   
A promise comes in twilight gray   
Hope shall not fail nor love decay.  
Love and hope are always dear,   
Dearer when the twilight is near  
Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight   
When the stars stretch far as sight   
For love and hope are always dear   
Dearer still when twilight is near."

Laura turned to Glorfindel, her eyebrows arched enquiringly.   
“Well………master?”   
In truth, the song had been well played and well sung, even to the ear of an Elf. But she had not played it without fault, for certain. There were untuned notes and occasional mistakes in the rhythm.   
"You play it well,” Glorfindel admitted. “But there are still some things to be improved upon.” He paused, then added with a smile. “And if I remember correctly, we had a deal that if you did not learn it in the same time it took me to learn ‘On Horseback’, you would sacrifice your hair. It seems to me you have too much at present.”   
Laura’s eyebrows arched even higher in surprise, but there was a green glow in her eyes that told the Elf-Lord she was not defeated so easily.   
"I? Cut my hair? she asked sweetly. “Why would I do that if I fulfilled my part of the deal? I can play and sing the song without a mistake.”   
“Not quite. There are some details that must be finetuned.”   
"Oh yeah? Like what, Lord Glorfindel? "She demanded mockingly, emphasizing his title. Glorfindel ignored this, sure he would win the argument this time.   
“Some of your notes are slightly out of tune, or sometimes the rhythm is off, especially in the chorus.”   
"Oh really?” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “The same thing can be said for your rendition of On Horseback.”   
Glorfindel felt a slight twinge of unease. His greatest vanity was his hair, which fell almost to his knees when unbraided.   
And Laura knew it.   
She laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on them, a faint smile on her thin lips.   
“If the same thing could have been said of my song, then all I see is that we are in equal standing,” he protested and saw with surprise there was a shimmer of playfulness in her eyes.   
"Oh, come on, come on!” Laura said impatiently, but her eyes never stopped shining. “I’ll cut off my hair and you cut off yours!”   
"No! That was not in the deal! " he answered, his voice vexed with angry indignation.  
Laura rolled her eyes and sat up with a sigh.   
“Forget it. Give me your dagger.”   
Glorfindel hesitated for a bare second. His dagger, a beautiful weapon with quillions of gold wrought in the shape of wings, was sharp and deadly--not something you gave to a prisoner.  
She took it with a sort of easy familiarity that surprised him. Holding it in one hand, she gathered her hair together with the other, and cut it from the shoulders without hesitation.   
“Well, I cut my hair. Even a firíma honors her deals,” she announced, flipping the dagger deftly and turned it towards him, hilt forward.   
Glorfindel took his weapon back, then took his own golden hair and cut it from the middle of the back. He sheathed his weapon and met her eyes.   
Laura looked down instead, and gently took the thick tress from Glorfindel’s hand and placed it beside her own hair. She stared at these for a long time, an emotion that the Elf-lord could not understand, and would not understand until many years later: until the night she told him of a man had played her, and how she had wondered if her hands were so red that even love spurned her, not knowing the next night he would give her his soul. 

***

"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai," she said slowly, in a low voice, her head still bent.   
Glorfindel had expected closure, not this. He looked at her and she went on slowly, trying out the words.   
"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai, " she said again. “Day and night. Day and night can never, ever together, and yet, the day has been beside the night for over two years. Every time the night tried to sink him into the darkness, the day went on illuminating everything around him, bringing warmth and ….." She paused, laughed. “Joy, fun, learning, things that the night had not had for a long time, but she can’t give those back.” Laura stopped and looked up at Glorfindel. The emotion in those emerald eyes was so great that Glorfindel was moved to the depths of his fëa, as he had never been.   
“The Egyptians were right. Ra was able to bring good and light, but Anubis? Anubis brought death because that was the only thing he knows how to do. But Ra still accepted and appreciated Anubis.” She stopped, her voice choked, still trying to smile.   
Glorfindel leaned forward, and gently took the hair from her palm, and began to braid them together.   
"Amon -Ra; Amon-Dai,” he said. “Truth is the night tried to sink her darkness into the day, but the day persisted because with his light he gave he could show the night the beauty she had: the stars and moon and the night-wind. And the day realized that the Moon was no less beautiful than the Sun.” He looked up, locking Laura’s gaze with his. “The day found things that it never would have found otherwise. It found this out very soon---the night has a very strong will.”   
Laura laughed weakly, and Glorfindel extended his hand to show her the braid. The dichotomy between the gold and black was startlingly beautiful, each color more eye-catching because of its contrast with the other.   
"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai, " repeated Glorfindel, smiling as he dropped it into her hand. Lord Glorfindel, smiling gently as he extended the braid towards her.   
Their hands brushed, and time spun itself to stop. Their hearts paused, breathless, with the braid between them. Moving along her arm, a tingling shock rushed into Laura’s heart, becoming something wonderful, something gold and silver and beautiful. The shock of it made her jerk her hand away, the braid clenched tightly in her fingers.   
"You felt it," Glorfindel said softly.   
She shrugged indifferently.   
"You Elves do pretty strange things.”   
“That was not me,” he answered.   
“Oh. Well, then it was just an electric shock. That’s all.”   
“Electric shock?” Glorfindel repeated.   
“Yes, you know. When there is a change in magnetism due to the change of seasons, it usually happens. The bodies release energy and often it is by means of light electrical discharges.”   
Glorfindel looked at her quietly, and Laura sighed impatiently.   
"It's a matter of Physics---a branch of science where I come from. If you want, I'll explain it to you someday, but for now, I think I’m going to go to bed.”   
Her cold tone confused Glorfindel into obedience. He rose and bid her farewell.   
Once Laura was in her cottage and sure that the Elf-lord was gone, she opened her hand and looked at the braid. It had not been an 'electric shock', it had been something so much deeper. She used to think science could explain everything. Now, there was so much it did not.   
"Follies!" She said to herself as she left the braid on her dressing table and went to take a bath.


	27. An unexpected confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's return to the other plot of the other two lovers: Lord Duilin and Elyéta.  
> In the last chapter we met another character, Elyéta's brother: Linwë. What role will Linwë play in this love story? And what will Lord Duilin's reaction will be considering his quick temper?

Chapter 26: An Unexpected Confession

"Well, have you and Salgant made amends yet?"  
Duilin looked away from Egalmoth and scowled. No, he would never make peace with that tasseled lord after what he had done during the council.  
"Duilin, remember what the Princess asked us," Egalmoth said in a low voice. Duilin turned and met his gaze stubbornly.   
"Do you think it was a small thing that she asked of us?" He retorted. “He has made us looked like liars! Does seem like a small thing to you?”  
"No, it certainly was not small,” Egalmoth agreed. “But the Princess asked-”  
"She never asked for forgiveness."  
"No, but do you remember what she did ask of us?”   
Duilin opened his mouth to contradict, but he could find no words, which was rare indeed, for his tongue was as fast as his limb and temper.   
"Very well," he replied disdainfully. "But do not think for a minute that I'm going to forgive him, Egalmoth."  
"Making peace with Salgant is more than enough for me," replied his friend.   
The two lords were standing in the light cast by an amber-glass lantern, watching the merrymaking go on about them. It was the Festival of the Arts, which was held thrice a year and intended to let artists of all kinds show their skill. Ecthelion and Idril participated, but over the course of the year, two siblings had gained the admiration of Gondolin for their skill in art and music.   
Linwë, a young Noldo, orphaned of father and mother by Helcaraxë, so skilled with music that Ecthelion had taken him under his wing, to nurture the gift that had been so lavishly bestowed on him.   
Elyéta was the other, so shy at first, she seemed a meek and mild creature, but she kept a fire in her heart. She an unparalleled ability to paint the most amazing images, in such a way that she seemed to be able to capture their spirits, their true essence in her watercolors. She was a self-taught painter, which had led to her inimitable techniques because, for everything an artist is not taught, a star of possibility still winks on her horizon.  
All of Gondolin knew who the Princess would award the prizes in the fields of art and music. It was only a question of when.   
"What do you think Ecthelion will sing now?" Egalmoth asked after a few moments, trying to distract Duilin from his irritation.   
"Probably he and the Princess sing a duet,” Duilin answered distractedly, looking around him.   
"Have you heard of one Linwë?” Egalmoth continued. “They say that he will also participate with a duet. I should like to hear it."  
Hearing the name, Duilin felt a strange twinge in his chest. He still remembered the meddlesome Elf.   
"No," he answered, feigning indifference. "Who is he?"   
Egalmoth laughed.   
“Do you spend all your time in a cave, my friend? He is one of the most skilled musicians in Gondolin. Ecthelion says there will come a time when the birds will still to listen to him play.”   
Duilin snorted.   
"Nobody will ever be able to play as Ecthelion does. His ability was already well-known in Válinor. I assure you that no one should be able to play like him among all the Elves, including those who stayed in-” He broke off sharply then. They both knew what he had been about to say, and neither wanted it. It was Duilin who finally shook his head as if clearing his mind.   
"Come on, we're at a festival. Let us enjoy ourselves!”   
“I think that is a fine idea, but you don’t appear to be acting on it,” said a voice from behind them. They turned to seem Penlod, a good friend to them both. Duilin opened his mouth to answer when he finally saw who he had been looking for. She was dressed in pale rose-pink, her glossy black hair falling in ringlets down her back.   
“Here, take this,” he muttered to Egalmoth, handing him his glass of wine, and left quickly.  
"Do you know who she is?" Asked Penlod, looking after Duilin’s hurrying figure.   
"I'm not really sure," Egalmoth answered. “All I know is that she is a lady-in-waiting to the Princess and that Duilin is in love with her.”  
Penlod watched Duilin offer his arm to the elleth and smiled.   
“It seems you’re right,” he answered. “Duilin is very much in love with her.” 

***

Lord Duilin’s POV

'Oh gods, there she is! She looks like a wild rose, so shy, so beautiful. I have to speak to her before the contests begin. My mind and my heart sing when I'm with her. I cannot spend tonight without being with her. "

***

“Elyéta?”  
The voice startled her. She spun around, and her heart leaped with joy and surprise. Duilin was standing a few steps from her, his tawny hair braided with white feathers, his blue eyes smiling.   
“Oh! My lord!” she said, making a curtsey.  
“Are you going to participate in the contest of the arts?” He asked. “If not, it is only because you knew you would win, and wanted the others to have a fair playing ground.”   
“Your words honor me, Lord Duilin, but my paintings are not so ... beautiful, as you think “she said, her eyes still down because she knew it would be impossible to speak if she met his.   
“Quite the contrary, Elyéta, I know you will win the prize because I have seen your work and I still have the painting you gifted me with,” he replied earnestly.   
Elyéta raised her head sharply, fixing her eyes on his. Her hands crossed behind her back and began to rock forth and back on her heels. “Really, my lord?” She asked in a voice that nearly trembled.   
“Yes. I have it in my chambers, in a place for my eyes alone,” he said simply. The mere fact of seeing her was enough. She wore a rose-pink dress, beautiful in its simplicity, and her only other ornament was a silver necklace with an opal pendant.   
Against her will, Elyéta remembered her brother’s words, and answered quietly, “My Lord, you give too much importance to a common painting by a commoner artist.”   
“Common painting?” Repeated Lord Duilin in utter surprise. “Common? That is the hardly the word I would use describe you! I would rather be by your side, Elyéta, than by the side of the Princess herself!”.  
“Truly?” She asked, the word escaping her in her amazement.   
Duilin offered his arm: Elyéta timidly put her hand and let herself be guided away by him.

***

Elyéta’s POV

'This is so beautiful! He still remembers me! It’s hard to believe such luck could come to me, but I still want more. Is that wrong? Is it? The One created love for a reason, and if only this was more than friendship. I’ve fallen in love with a lord…….so is this truly good luck? Or is ill?  
Never mind. Don’t think such thoughts. You have a friend, don’t lose him. 

***

They walked for a long time, talking of everything and nothing. Little by little Elyéta blossomed, becoming talkative, witty, observant.   
And it was the latter that made her realize the cloud appeared on her companion’s brow when she mentioned the Lord of the Harp.   
"What's wrong, my lord?" she asked, puzzled and surprised.   
"What's wrong?" He repeated.   
"Yes, you were angry when I mentioned Lord Salgant,” she said with a child’s simplicity. Then she blushed and looked down, her former fluidness deserting her. “You were……ah…….angry…..and maybe I can…….help. I-I know that I have not earned your trust, but maybe I can help you "  
The Swallow looked at her for a moment. If only she knew that she had earned so much more than he himself knew! And it was what made him answer,   
"Only a ... misunderstanding. It is nothing."  
He would not say more, because she should not carry any of his problems, his problems were his and only his. This beautiful creature should be forced to shoulder his burdens. She deserved only happiness.  
"Forget and forgive," she said suddenly, smiling up at him. “To forgive and forget is the only this way you can live. Otherwise, you get bitter. Your heart gets wrinkled by the bitterness, and it shrivels like dried fruit. And it would certainly be terrible if my lord ended up like a raisin, would it not?” she ended playfully, still looking at him.   
Duilin stared at her for a moment and then laughed.   
“That would be terrible indeed,” he agreed. “I would rather become a millet seed, wouldn’t you?”   
She laughed too.   
“Me! Never!”   
“No,” he smiled. “You would be a rose, wouldn’t you?”   
Her smile faded away as looked up at him.   
“A rose, my lord? Isn’t that a little too grand?”   
“I don’t think anything is too grand for you,” he answered, and bent to kiss her forehead.   
“Elyéta!” The sharp exclamation made both turn with guilty quickness. Linwë stood there, a dagger-sharp gaze fixed on the Elf-Lord, although he said civilly enough, “Elyéta, I have been looking for you. We sing soon, and should rehearse one more time, don’t you think?”   
"Are you going to sing, Elyéta?" Duilin asked, ignoring Linwë.   
"Um ... ah ... yes ... with my brother," she answered, shrinking away from both of their eyes. "My lord ..." she added with a pleading look. The Elf-lord immediately understood what she was referring to and said immediately,   
"Without a doubt, you must rehearse. I'll be there to hear you.”   
She smiled faintly.   
"Thank you, my lord," she murmured.  
Linwë, who had ignored the Swallow-Lord, took his sister's hand as soon as the Elf-lord had finished speaking and led her away.  
Duilin closed his fists on seeing this. If this Elf couldn’t find some manners, he would get in trouble. 

***

A murmur rushed through the crowd, and the rich, powerful voice of Lord Rog announced,   
“Behold! Here is Turgon, High King of the Noldor, and his daughter Princess Idril Celebrindal, High Princess of the Noldor!”  
There was silence as the two appeared onto the high stage. Turgon was amazingly tall, dressed in white, with a crown of red garnets, and a belt of gold. He carried no scepter or sword, for this was a time of rejoicing, and his keen face was smiling.   
The Pearl Gondolin wore a linen dress so fine that it looked like mist. Like her father, she too wore a belt of filigree gold, and on her chest, she wore a necklace of diamonds and sapphires set in silver, a necklace that had belonged to her mother. She was smiling as well, and raised both lily hands into the air,   
“May the contests begin, and the Válar favor all!” 

***

At the end of their song, there was warm applause. The voices of both siblings were very beautiful, and Linwë's fingers extracted the sweetest notes that could be imagined from his lyre. The lyrics of the song were full of feeling and, above all, of joy. The joy that reigned in Gondolin, the joy that reigned in a place where everyone was safe from Unnamed One, the joy of a race that loves art and all beautiful things and that, at that moment, was happy to enjoy them.  
Linwë bowed to his audience, wrapped in success until he noticed his sister blushing, her gaze fixed on Lord Duilin, as were his eyes on her. The Elf-lord was smiling at her, and it was clear it had little to do with the song.   
Linwë took a deep breath. If his little sister did not realize what was happening, he would have to be the one to protect her. And he would start his own war against the miserable Lord who dared to play with his sister’s heart. He had already begun preparations.  
He approached Ecthelion, saying,   
"My lord, I have a song that I would like to show the audience. Would you allow me to sing it?”   
The Lord of the Fountains smiled.   
"Of course, Linwë,”  
"Thank you, my lord," he answered, bowing and returned to the stage. Elyéta, seeing this, ran to him before he went up the stairs.   
"Linwë ... I did not know we were going to sing another song!"   
"No, this song I want to sing by myself. Do not worry, little sister. This was written for a single voice.”   
And having said that, he went nimbly up the stairs and said, lyre in hand.   
“Friends, before we continue, Lord Ecthelion has honored me by letting me sing on more song to you. It is named Scorned Love,” he added, letting his gaze linger for a few moments on Lord Duilin. He paused for a minute, and then began, letting his voice roll, rich and deep and sorrowful, over the waiting ears of the crowd.

“Wander, mourner, by sunless streams  
Weep, mourner, for broken dreams   
For after one fleeting and giddy day   
Like an old rag, you were cast away 

Sit and mourn by the moon-lit pools   
Sing a song of treachery and fools   
Your heart is broken and you weep   
But for him, the past lies in sleep 

You met amid the roses, but he cast   
Your heart amid the thorns at last   
Betrayal’s thorns with roses veiled   
By sweet scents, you were assailed 

And the only warning of the trickery   
Was the mawkish, cloying flattery   
He gave to you, promising a thing   
That would never end with a ring 

You were but a toy for an idle hour   
And your heart naught but a flower   
And all its petals might be crushed   
Tossed aside and ground to dust.   
So sit and mourn your broken heart   
The betrayal that will never depart  
From your reflection in moon-lit pools  
As you sing of treachery and fools.” 

He bowed and left the stage amid surprised applause. His sister did not join in this applause: she stood frozen in shock. 

***

Linwë was walking down an open corridor, grateful for the cool night air when an iron grip on his shoulder spun him around.  
"How dare you!” Duilin cried, his eyes blazing with rage. “How dare you insinuate such things, you backstabbing cur?!”   
"So, you did notice, my lord, to whom it was directed?" replied Linwë calmly. “And if I am a cur, what does that make my sister?”   
“A flower, an intelligent, beautiful woman who shares no traits with her brother!”   
“But not a lady. What I see, my Lord is that you are bored. Elyéta is beautiful, she is intelligent, she is skilled, but she is a commoner, and there will be no repercussions when you throw her away for someone else.”   
“You, witless whoreson,” Duilin answered with exasperated anger. “If you think I would treat Elyéta like that you have all the mind of a toad. If I wish to be with her, it is her business, and it is mine, but it is not yours.”   
“It is my business because she is my little sister. And you want something from her.”  
“I do!” exclaimed Duilin, shaking him. “I do! I want her love! I love her with all my fëa, and I would never do her the slightest harm! She is everything to me!”  
Hearing this, the young Noldo looked at him scornfully.   
"Do you really think, my lord, that I believe you? You, who have always winked at love and marriage as a matter of jest, have now become a romantic? I think not. No, my lord, you do not even know what love is. Now, I think that both of us with that we could become better strangers, so let me go.”   
Duilin released him silently, surprise superseding anger, and Linwë walked away, leaving Duilin to listen to an enchanting voice singing about two lovers in the summertime.


	28. A mutant among the Gondolindhrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The king allows Laura to walk freely througout Gondolin and treat with the people.  
> Lord Glorfindel has started to realize that something is going on, something not exactly right or at least not expected. So what will be his reaction?  
> And Laura? Will she find another friend among the inhabitants of the Hidden City? And what about her relationship between the Lord of the Golden Flower?  
> Not to mention that Princess Idril will have a vision of the future...

Chapter 28: A Mutant among the Gondolindrim

Glorfindel was looking at his right hand as if it was a gateway to a miracle.  
The last time he had touched the human's hand had been …..a firework in his head. The other times had been a feather-soft caress. But this was a lightning bolt that he was screamingly, electrically aware of, that had raced through his body, stifling all other sensations.   
He had begun this out of pity, but it seemed he had been climbing a different stairway. Hwa-Young had been alone, her soul drowning in a persona she’d carved to fit an indifferent world. The anger from her eyes was a mask for the scared child within, the woman who had been starved of love. He had tried to bring the sun but found it took a toll on him, so he had let her fight shadows until she craved light.   
She had been petty, querulous and cruel these last two years, cold and ungrateful. But she was evolving, that was also true. He had begun to strip away the façade, but she was doing it herself more and more.   
Pity was no longer his reason, even to himself. But love? No. Never. Not towards a mortal. Life was too precious, the few thousand years he had lived all too short. He wanted all the years that were the Eldars’ birthright, and he had no intention of forfeiting this one. 

***

"If you keep looking at your hand like that, you’ll bore a hole in it,”   
Glorfindel started guiltily, looking up to see Rog and Ecthelion.   
"Well, Glorfindel, what is it? We've been looking for you for over an hour,” Rog continued. Seeing Glorfindel’s uncomprehending stare, he sighed. “Have you really forgotten that we going to to the rivulet that the Swallows found?”   
“Of course….” Glorfindel muttered, trying to catch hold of his thoughts. Like quick-flying sparrows, they had been startled by Rog’s voice and now hovered just above his fingertips.   
Rog chuckled richly. “What a memory you have, my friend! It is a wonder you have not forgotten where your sword is! I would think you lost count of time under the trysting tree.”  
“Trysting-tree, Rog? What makes you think that?” Glorfindel returned. His thoughts are coming back to roost now, but very slowly, and his voice is abrupt and defensive.   
It was Ecthelion who saved him, as Ecthelion always did, whenever his hotheadedness landed him in trouble. “If he did, Rog, I think we should let him dwell on the moment. I, for one, have never found love a jesting matter.”   
“Of course not,” Rog answered, seeming almost shame-faced. His voice has dropped a little. “A thousand apologies, Glorfindel. We will leave you now.”   
“If you and Galdor do not mind greatly…” Ecthelion began, trailing off with a questioning arch of his black brows.   
Rog nodded, bade them farewell, and left.   
"Well, Glorfindel, what is it? " Ecthelion asked, once they were alone. Glorfindel was silent for a moment, searching for words. But he finally gave up and poured everything out to Ecthelion.   
"And what do you think of this?" Ecthelion said once he was finished, his agate eyes fixed on Glorfindel’s.   
Glorfindel shook his head. “I wish I knew. I……I appreciate Hwa -Young, and I am glad she has changed. But my happiness for her only means I am happy for her. Nothing else.”   
Ecthelion shrugged his shoulders, his voice mild. “You know your own mind best, my friend. If that is what you believe, I have no intention of going against you.”   
“But it’s not what you believe,” Glorfindel answered sharply. “Do you truly think I’ve fallen in love with…..a firíma?”   
His friend’s tone was reasonable, and it was that reason that rubbed at Glorfindel. “Glorfindel, I cannot give you a full answer. And I think that is what you want. You’re afraid to find an answer. You’re afraid of what it might mean.”   
“Fear?!” Glorfindel laughed incredulously, but it was forced incredulity. “Ecthelion, you can call many things, but you cannot call me a coward.”   
Ecthelion shrugged once more, looking out into a courtyard where a marble fountain stood, depicting two birds flying together. The crystal-clear water jumped bright, singing. “My friend, I am not a master in love. I loved once, but it was long ago and far away. All I can tell you is this, whether you are a king, a lord or a peasant, we all must learn to stand on our own feet instead of our ancestors, so we can accept the joys and sorrows that life brings. Do you understand me?”   
“No. Maybe,” Glorfindel replied, raising his gaze to Ecthelion’s.   
“What I am saying is that you must do what you feel is right. That is all.” 

***

Last Day of Narvinyë (January)  
It was the day of Turuhalmë or the Logdrawing, where the Gondolindrim went into the snowy woods to bring back firewood on sleighs, for the Tale-Fire was never allowed to go out on Turuhalmë. Even now, it roared and flared anew on the hearth, blessed with ancient magic.   
Bright-towered Gondolin stood beautiful and white, covered with midwinter snow. But although the trees were bare and the only blossoms there were frost-flowers, merriment filled all the streets.   
The people had been called into the Great Market, and they stood there, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women holding their babies, children dodging in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows' crossing flights over the noise and music.   
It was the silver bell that stilled them all, with its great joyous clanging, turning all eyes towards where the King and his daughter was standing, on a raised dais.   
“My friends, my people, I must tell you something.” Turgon’s voice was not loud, but it was clear and strong. “Today is a day of merriment, but it is also a time of Sovallë, of purification. That means I must tell you this. Two years ago, Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion found a mortal in the Tumladen valley. For two years we have been watching for some sign that this was only the beginning: that we had been found out, but our eyes and ears have told us that is not so. We are still safe, hidden from the Nameless One. So now, my friends, greet Hwa-Young, the woman of North Korea. She is to stay with us the rest of her days.”   
Idril went down the other side of the dais, and when she returned, her hand was on the shoulder of a small, slim woman, her short hair black, her eyes cat-green.   
There was the silence of a grave-yard with all the warmth of the dead. It was Idril who spoke. “Surely we pride ourselves on a warm welcome. Hwa-Young is to stay with us, to find a new life.”   
She nodded to the musicians, and the music began again, a shimmering of gong and flute, and a voice called from among the crowd, singing sweetly:   
“Come and join our merry throng   
Dance our dance and sing our song!”   
Turgon turned to Laura, his voice smiling but his eyes warning. "You have been introduced to my people, Hwa -Young. This is your time to show us we have not judged wrongly. Now go down, and meet with your new family.”   
Laura’s answer was a strained smile.   
"Yes, your Majesty." 

***

Laura's POV 

' This is fucking horrible. Worse than the day I came to Mansion X. I can feel everyone looking at me. And why not? I’m a mortal, a firíma! Damn! How I hate that word! As if the elves were the sans pareil!   
The only catch is that they’re wrong. I am a human, but I can live as long as they can.   
Most of them aren’t even talking in Quenya: it’s Sindarin. Ecthelion offered to teach me, but what for? I can do it myself.   
Damn you all for making the centerpiece of your little party! I can’t be here…..I hate it already. I’m going to leave, they already have something to talk about. Talk of the town, that’s what I am. God-damn it. 

***  
She had mingled in with the crowd until she was sure Turgon’s eyes were off her. Then, she began working her way towards the back, as covertly as possible.   
“Hwa-Young?”   
She straightened, nailing a smile to her face as she turned.   
Maeglin stood there, holding out a glass of wine to her. “I’m glad to find you among us.”   
Laura took the glass, nodding her thanks. All she wanted to do was leave. Just be polite, she warned herself, still smiling. “I’m happy to be here as well, Lord Maeglin. And I’m surprised to see you. After all, I was under the impression you didn’t like these events.”   
The young Elf-lord smiled, sensing her impatience perfectly well. Laura sighed, “I shouldn’t have said that, Lord Maeglin. It’s only that I don’t want to be here and I know that they don’t want me either.” She gestured around her.  
Maeglin nodded. “Believe me, I know. Not many care for the Bastard-Prince.”   
Laura arched an eyebrow. “Well, maybe, but being a bastard….or what happened to your parents isn’t your fault at all. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and if they knew……I don’t know what would happen.”   
“What do you mean?”   
Laura looked from the crowd back to the Elf. "When I was going from North Korea to Russia, I had to do some things that were not ... good," she replied simply.   
There was a long silence. Maeglin watched, from the corner where they stood, the crowd dancing and singing. Laura swirled her wine around the glass, and in each ripple of the red liquid, she began to see the faces of people she had tortured and murdered. Even here, her past would haunt her, and she deserved it. That was a simple truth.   
“Look, Hwa-Yong. Does she not dance like she has fire under her feet and wind in her fingers?”   
Laura looked up and saw that her partner was watching Princess Celebrindal, dancing among the crowd with pure, unpracticed grace.   
“Yes,” she answered cautiously, but she could have said nothing, for Maeglin was spellbound.   
“She is beautiful. Beautiful and cold. Why so cold?” Maeglin continued, and his eyes were hot and cold with passion and grief.   
Laura looked at him. "Perhaps because we are what they have never been and we never become," she replied. The words came out with the ring of a painful, unquestionable truth. “They are light and we are dark. That is all. Glorfindel has moved away from me too.” she added suddenly.   
. "I'm sorry," he said, with real sympathy.   
"I know," she replied with a small smile   
There was another moment of silence, then Maeglin asked, "Would you like to see my forge, Hwa -Young?”   
Laura turned towards him. “Forge? Yes, please. It would be a good way to get to know the city.”   
"It’s out of the city.”   
"Even better.   
Maeglin chuckled. "Very well. I’ll come tomorrow and take you there. if you want, I can teach you some techniques. We’ll start at the beginning, of course.”  
Laura laughed this time. “Lord Maeglin, I may have some tricks up my sleeve that will surprise even you.” 

***

Laura's POV 

Lord Maeglin has invited me to his forge. It’s an honor, I suppose, especially since he doesn’t exactly like people. Maybe he and I can be friends. It makes more sense than Glorfindel and I becoming that.   
Yes, it’s a fact. And Glorfindel has probably always realized that. That’s why he’s made the distance between us, but I wish I knew what I did. I do. I really do. I hate this uncertainty. It makes me…..it makes me almost want to cry.   
Whatever that 'electrical charge' was….it changed everything, even my mind. Glorfindel seems kinder…..hell…….even…..even sweet. Oh, fuck that! Yes, Laura, go ahead. Become interested in someone you have no chance with. Get a grip, girl. The best thing you can do is find something in your reach, and remember who you are, and who he is.’ 

***

"I thank you for the dance, Lord Glorfindel," said Idril, as he led her back the dais. “It’s been a long while since I’ve enjoyed a dance that much.”  
“And I as well, Princess,” he answered, smiling. “I thought that…….the King’s announcement would ruin the festival, but it seems to have not affected it at all.” “Yes, Hwa-Young. Of course,” the Princess replied lightly. “Where is she, Glorfindel? I would think you’d be with her.”   
"I thought maybe she should deal directly with the Gondolindrim,” Glorfindel answered.   
Idril shrugged her bare shoulders as they ascended the dais. “Perhaps, but it seems to me I would rather deal directly with strangers with a friend by my side.”   
Glorfindel flinched inwardly at the Princess’ light words. He knew Idril, had since she was a child. She knew how deeply the most carefree words could affect a person when spoken at the right time.   
"It seems to me that you and Hwa-Young have grown a little apart, or is that only my perception?” Idril continued.   
" What do you mean, Princess?” He asked innocently.   
She smiled, shrugged, inclined her head. “Only what I said, Glorfindel. But don’t answer if you don’t wish to. Thank you again for the dance.”  
“Of course. May I have another sometime soon?”   
“It would be all my pleasure,” she said. Glorfindel left, and she widened her gaze to take in the rest of the scene. Her eye was caught first by her cousin--his height and breadth made him hard to miss. The faintest moue of disgust crossed her lovely face. Then she saw the woman talking to him. She frowned inwardly, but when she blinked, everything changed.   
The woman was speaking to Glorfindel, not Maeglin, and she was wearing a beautiful necklace whose pendant showed a galloping horse made from silver. The two were holding hands like lovers, and she saw Glorfindel gently caressing the knuckles of the woman’s right hand.   
But there was more than that. It was changed with her as well. Now in her, there was something filled that she never knew had been empty. There was something so beautiful that didn’t understand and did not want to it, for it was magic…  
Then it was gone. Glorfindel had turned in Maeglin’s direction, she saw. Idril sat down beside her father, her hands folded in her lap.   
*** 

Lord Glorfindel's POV 

'Surely this is friendship…..leaving a friend alone when in need. I all but forgot about you thinking about me, I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. And I promise, Hwa-Young, I’ll mend this bridge so we’ll never need to break it again.


	29. Learning to live in Gondolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems that living in Gondolin isn't so easy as it seemed at first sight, at least not for Laura.  
> And what about the relationship between Lord Maeglin and Laura?   
> Oh! By the way, another character will appear, one that will be very important in the lives of Laura and Maeglin.

Chapter 29: Learning to Live in Gondolin

*Six Months Later 

The day was warm and the breeze that blew in from Tumladen’s field playful, bringing a sweet, dewy scent to the Upper Market. It blew Laura’s hair towards her face, and she let it hang there. The fewer Elves who saw her face, the better. She knew what they considered her: ‘mortal’, ‘child’, ‘stranger.’ But neither would she stay in her cottage any longer: the period of confinement had made her restless as a cooped hawk.   
So for half a year, she had spent her time wandering around the city, watching its inhabitants, and in her own way, learning what she needed to know of their culture and language.   
Little by little, Turgon began to trust her, and over time, he removed her guards. She was still brought food, but Ecthelion had told her this would soon cease, and she would have to learn a trade to buy her own food. That had not pleased Laura very much, since what she knew was being a mercenary and an assassin, and neither of those seemed variable career options at this point.   
Another change had come, the worst one of all. Since her cottage was no longer guarded, Glorfindel would no longer come. Those nights they had spent enjoying each other’s company, even reluctantly, were over, and she was lonely.  
She was so very lonely: a rocky meteoroid in a cosmos full of stars. There was Idril, beautiful beyond beauty, the Lords, especially Ecthelion, with their cold, courteous kindness, the Elves who looked at her and then looked away. So she carried her loneliness in her heart, not noticing it because she was used to its taste.  
On this day, the Upper Market was crowded, for in two days, a marriage was going to take place between Vendelle, lady-in-waiting to the Princess; and Ermehtar, a soldier of the Heavenly Arch, and there was much preparation.  
Laura watched the Elves, buying an array of beautiful gifts, thinking: Here I thought human weddings were a big deal. She was walking away from a booth selling metallurgy when a loose paper caught her eye. She picked it up and saw that the characters there were completely foreign to her. She had crumpled the paper in her hand to examine it later, when a sweet, effervescent voice from behind her said, “Pardon me, but that’s mine.”   
Laura turned to look into large and earnest eyes. It was a young Elf-woman, small and slender, with blue eyes and pale hair.   
"Excuse me, but that note is mine. Please give it back to me, " the Elf repeated. Laura sighed and pushed the note at her, but the elleth only smiled.   
“Thank you.”   
Laura nodded shortly and was about to walk away, when the elleth continued, her eyes widening. “Oh! You’re……you’re the guest!”   
Laura nodded again, waiting for the elleth’s eyes to say: So this is what a mortal looks like. So small. They didn’t.   
“It’s a pleasure to meet you….”   
" Hwa -Young," Laura replied, surprised at her enthusiasm.   
"It is all my honor!" she exclaimed. “I am Alassë! Oh! Is this not wonderful? At last, I have met a daughter of Men! Come! Come come!” She took Laura by the hand and led her back to a booth stocked with exquisite fruit, whose beautiful colors and sugar-sweet scent made even Laura’s mouth water. Alassë took up a cluster of grapes, large, firm, and purple-black, and handed them to Laura. “Here, taste them. What do you think?”   
“It’s very good,” Laura answered, after trying one.   
Alassë’s smile grew like a spring flower. “Oh! I am so glad! Here, take them and eat!”   
Laura began to eat slowly, with some suspicion but no real worry. She was immune to poison, only confused at the Elf’s excitement. When she had finished, she was given an apple as large as her hand, and so large Laura was sure Snow White would have been jealous. But when Alassë gave her a peach, Laura gave it back. The fruit was delicious, but she did not have a single penny to pay for it. “Thanks, but that’s more than enough, Alassë.” She paused, sighed, continued. “How much do I owe you?”   
Alassë looked at her with astonished disappointment. “Did you not like the fruit?” she asked flatly, all the sparkling joy that had characterized her voice stolen.   
“No, no, no, not at all,” Laura said quickly. “It’s only that….it’s only that….I can’t pay you for fruit that must be worth a fortune.”   
Alassë's smile returned, so frankly sweet with a hint of shyness that unexpected warmth rushed through Laura. “This is the courtesy of the house! It is my welcoming gift to you.”   
“Welcoming gift,” Laura repeated slowly.   
“Yes,” Alassë replied. “I would have liked to have done the night the King introduced you, but I could not find you. You are special, and you are a stranger, and you need more than welcoming words.”   
Laura studied the elleth in silence for a minute. “You’re welcoming me……because I am different?” she asked, at last, her voice shocked in softness.   
"Yes! The children of Men are different, but that does not mean they are not beautiful. It is only that we blind ourselves because we do not want to see. Sometimes, those who seem the plainest have the most beauty, and I think you, my friend, are one of those.”  
A smile crossed Laura’s face, and she was helpless to stop it. “How did you say your name again?”  
The elleth smiled. "Alassë.”

*** 

Since meeting Alassë, Laura had gone to the market every day, for Alassë’s company was pleasant, even for Laura, who thought she was a lover of loneliness. Alassë was bubbly, sweet, full of life while Laura was taciturn and often coarse, but the mutant liked to be with Alassë. There was something about the elleth that brought magic and life to the most mundane things: her childish joy infecting. From her, Laura learned the history of Gondolin: from how Turgon had been told to build it by the Vala Ulmo to the birth of the most recent child. To Laura's question who was named the ‘Unnamed One ', Alassë had said only that he was a terrible enemy.   
That had not been enough for Laura, so she had asked Alassë to teach her Tengwar.   
"Do you want to learn Tengwar?" the Elf asked. “For what reason?”   
“I’m curious what that paper said. The one I found the day we met,” she elaborated. She wasn’t so interested in what the paper said: she wanted to know a fuller history of the Elves.   
Alassë laughed. “Oh! You would not want to read those---they would bore you to tears! They were only my sale notes for the day.” She paused, looking at Laura. “Hwa-Young, would you care to sell fruit with me?”   
“Sell fruit?” Laura repeated blankly.   
" Yes, yes!” Alassë clapped her hands in excitement. “You and I could sell fruit, and I could teach you Tengwar so you can tend to the accounts!”   
Laura stood still, searching for words and coming up empty.   
“We would be together, my friend! And you would also have a trade!” Alassë was smiling, still dancing from foot to foot.   
Laura had discovered the word “no”, and was about to say it when Alassë’s words finally reached their mark. “What did you say?” She asked slowly.   
"I said that it would be most wonderful if you and I could sell fruit together,” Alassë answered.   
“No. You said we would be together.”   
“Oh, yes! We would be together, my dear friend! That makes even more wonderful, do you not agree?”   
Laura’s surprise crystalized into the cold, calculating suspicion that had been bred into at the Facility. “So you consider me your friend?”   
Alassë was child-like in many regards, but she was also observant and kind. She smiled sweetly and took Laura’s hand. “You are my friend, Hwa-Young. Never have any doubt about that.”   
"But you barely know me.”   
"I know you enough to know I want you for my friend. Believe me, you can count on my friendship forever, Hwa-Young,” Alassë answered simply, and Laura felt her throat tighten. Alassë was telling the truth, telling it true because she could not do anything but.   
Carried by a strange impulse, she returned the handclasp, something she had never done before with anyone but Glorfindel. When she did not feel the electric sensation, she filed it away for later thought, but the moment was too important. She swallowed her emotion, and answered, “Alright, but having me as an assistant is the worst decision you have ever made.”   
“Oh, no matter,” Alassë said brightly. “Stay to help me sell the fruit and I’ll teach you Tengwar.”   
Laura smiled. “It sounds like a square deal to me,” 

*** 

Laura's POV 

'It’s a strange thing to say, but I am honestly grateful for Alassë. I still don’t know if she is my friend….after the way Glorfindel pushed me away. I guess don’t know friendship anymore. So I’m afraid to get too attached to Alassë, in case she does it.   
Alassë is like a girl, in my opinion, bubbly and full of life, things that I will never be, but Alassë makes me laugh. Glorfindel can’t be as cheerful as Alassë. God no, he’s the first born of Zeus. But still, he was patient and kind, and we could talk together for a long time….  
Alassë’s funny and talks a lot, sometimes too much, but conversations with her won’t be like……  
Oh, shut the fuck up. Moving onto more important matters: the King called me a few weeks ago and gave me his ultimatum: I have to find a job because nobody lives for free in Gondolin.  
' Work makes you worthy,’ according to him. The only problem is that I have tried to learn several trades and failed each, like when they took me to the Houses of Healing to put under dear Nestaë. I didn’t like her very much, but I guess that makes us square because she doesn’t like me either. 

Flashback   
“Hwa -Young," Nestaë said when Laura entered. She was small in body, but large in spirit, even Laura could sense that. “The Princess has asked me to teach you the art of Healing. In time, you will come to understand, that this is not only a science but true art.” She paused, beckoning for Laura to follow her out of the room. “First, I will get you the garb of an apprentice. And you must pull your hair back from your face. Tie it back, or braid it, cut it if you like.”   
Laura arched her eyebrows with sardonic amusement and stood where she was, arms crossed over her chest. No nurse was going to order her around, that was all.  
Nestaë turned to look at her, an equal sardonic smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Do you not like what I said, Hwa-Young? I am sorry, but it is important for cleanliness’s sake to keep your hair away from your face; it identifies us as practitioners of the art-”  
"Of the art of Healing,” Laura replied, with studied disinterest.  
Nestaë’s smile grew hard and very cold. “If you do not care, you do not have to be here. Last I saw, the door was wide open.”   
End of flashback 

Laura's POV   
'After this, they tried to make me a clerk and have me transcribe books for Lord Nolandil. It wasn’t a total waste of time: I learned a lot about Elven history and culture, and other things. Did you know that Elves write books about how a baby should be made and how is it developed within the elleth matrix? Jesus!   
But anyway, I learned a lot, but let's say that I could never get along with Lord Nolandil. The good elf was very jealous of his work.’ 

Flashback 

"You will work here, Hwa -Young," Lord Nolandil said, showing her a beautiful study with a desk carved of some rich wood. On it sat a large white quill in a glass inkwell and a ream of thick, cream-colored paper. Sunlight flooded the room.   
The Elf, a tall, capable-looking Nando with dark hair and cool grey eyes, motioned to the chair. “Please, sit,” he said, his voice modulated and musical. “Your task, as I am sure you already know, will be to transcribe the books I give you. I’ve heard you can read Tengwar. I would like to see you write it "   
Laura took a sheet and dipped the quill in ink. It was easy to write with Alassë because she had taught her through simple sentences, but to write a literary work was another story.   
When she finished, Nolandil looked at it and said, “We should begin with writing lessons, I believe. We will start at dawn tomorrow,”   
With the help of Nolandil, she managed to learn a style of writing, if not beautiful, was fluid and perfectly legible. However, it was never enough for the master of the library, and little by little, both lost patience with each other.  
Finally, after a severe argument, Nolandil dismissed her, saying her calling was decidedly not being a scribe.   
Laura only left. She had got what she wanted, so the experience had not been so bad. But once again, it left her without an occupation.   
End of the flashback 

Laura's POV 

'I also tried selling fruit Alassë, but it never worked. I’m not a people person, and I know that, but these goddamn Elves would make hard for even a friendly person. The way they look at you like you’re a cute little terrier learning new tricks. My god, I couldn’t stand it. So I’m looking for another trade.   
Gardening? Boring as hell.   
The Princess suggested music, and I’m sure friend Ecthelion loves to teach that art to anyone who is interested in it, but I do not think he and I would get along well in that situation. And really, I don’t want to lose another friend. I can play the harp and sing one song, thanks to Glorfindel, but it’s one thing to play a song and the other to be a musician. So no. The only thing I really want to do is be a guard and that’s off the list. They would never accept me and, even if they did, I would have to use my mutant skills to keep up with the soldiers. That would never work. I need answers, not questions. I need a damn good answer for why I’m immortal.   
If only I would find a job that I like ...!   
It seems that the friend Goth-Elf is coming, if my nose doesn’t deceive me. I doubt he’s looking for me, he’s not like that. Let’s see what he wan


	30. Metals and mortals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something quite... strange Laura will find out in her new friend. As I said, this new character will have a lot of importance in Laura and Maeglin's lives. While Laura and Maeglin's relationship grows and her relationship with Lord Glorfindel is vanishing.

Chapter 30: Metals and Mortals 

He was walking towards the palace, his thin, symmetrically handsome face set in inscrutable lines. In his hand he held a bracelet, wrapped in linen. It was for Idril, for his cousin, as all things, in the end, always were. His fingers were cold with fear, so it was almost with relief that he hailed the young human walking ahead of him. He needed time to calm down the panicked roar of his heart, and he found Hwa-Young amusing and at times, refreshing.   
“Hwa-Young! Come!”   
The black-haired woman whirled around towards him. “Lord Maeglin! I did not hear you.”   
Maeglin nodded. “Elves tread softly.”   
Laura’s mouth twitched in a sour smile. “I’m sure.”   
“You seem preoccupied,” Maeglin continued. “What worries you?”   
The woman shrugged irritably. “I’m not worried, just a little……angry. I can’t find a trade anywhere. Nothing works out.”   
Maeglin was mildly surprised. “Why not? I seem to me as an intelligent and capable person. After all, you learned Quenya and Sindarin, as I have heard, by yourself.”   
Laura smiled, honestly flattered. “Finally, an Elf who looks me in the eye instead down their nose! You’re very wise, Lord Maeglin.”   
Maeglin laughed, and Laura continued, “It’s true, I learned Quenya and Sindarin by myself, but….well, I tried apprenticing myself to the healers, and Nestaë and I did not get along well. I tried to be a clerk and Lord Nolandil laughed at my handwriting. They have taught me how to harvest and garden, which is the most boring thing I’ve done in my life. I’ve tried vending with my friend Alassë and it didn’t work either.”   
"Why?" He asked curiously. "If a friend was teaching you, it would be much easier, would it not?”   
"Let's say you guys don’t really trust me," she replied. “They acted like I was going to poison them.”   
"Sometimes it seems like that’s what you are planning,” he agreed.   
Laura crossed her arms, arching her brow sardonically. "Sure," she said. “Looks who’s talking,"   
Maeglin only smiled laconically. He was about to wish her farewell, when the woman widened her eyes. “I have an idea! You and your house are the architects and blacksmiths, right? And I have a talent for metallurgy---you said so yourself!”   
"That’s true,” Maeglin agreed. “But raw talent doesn’t always suffice.”   
"Well, I'll have the best teacher: you.” When Maeglin chuckled, she continued resentfully, “I’m not joking!”   
“I know,” Maeglin answered seriously. “But no one has ever wanted to be apprenticed to me.”  
Laura shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe that’s because no one pays attention,” she said, a little surprised at herself Maybe she and Lord Maeglin were closer than it seemed at first look.  
“Thank you. Here, tell me. What do you think of this?” he asked, unwrapped the bracelet. It was made of silver filigree, twisted together so it seemed to flow and move. Jewels were inset in it: an emerald of rare dark hue, an amethyst violet as a silent dusk, a ruby the color of crystallized blood, a sapphire that was a bright bold blue, and in each stone was carefully carved a six-pointed star. Laura drew in her breath sharply. “It’s beautiful.”   
“Not as lovely as the Celebrindal,” Maeglin said in a low, wistful voice. “Do you think she will find it beautiful, Hwa-Young?”   
"Um ... I guess so. I mean, it's very pretty and, well…I really do not know what the Princess likes," she said awkwardly, recalling the rumors that said Maeglin was madly in love with is cousin.   
“She accepts them always, but she never wears them,” he continued, his voice low and hot. “I try and I try………oh gods, how I try, to make my works as beautiful….as perfect as she is, but it is like comparing a lump of granite to a pearl!” He paused, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, Hwa-Young. You didn’t need to hear that. I’ll go now: may the Válar favor me. Have a blessed night.”   
"Likewise, Lord Maeglin,"   
He had taken a few of steps when he turned and said,   
"As for what you have told me, Hwa -Young….I will talk to my second in command.” Then he left, and Laura, turning back to help Alassë pack up her fruit, and when she thought of the Princess, she found she felt compassion instead of a jealousy. 

*** 

" Well, Hwa -Young, have you found a trade?” Alassë asked, as they put the little fruit that was left in baskets. The stars were coming out as they worked, and nightbirds were beginning to sing.   
“Um…..no.”  
“Why not?” the elleth asked, sounding honestly surprised.   
“I haven’t found one that I like. Or that likes me,” Laura answered, cynicism sharpening her voice.   
Alassë sighed, putting her hands on her waist like a mother scolding an errant child. “Hwa -Young, things are different now. From what you’ve told me, North Korea is a world I can’t even imagine, but you don’t live there any longer. You live here, in Gondolin, and you need to adapt as well as you can.”   
Laura scoffed. She made that sound easy. “Don’t scold me, alright? Yesterday I talked with Lord Maeglin, and he said he would accept me as an apprentice to his house…or something like that.”   
"Lord Maeglin?" Alassë’s voice was slightly higher-pitched than normal.   
"Yes. It was kind of him to accept me, because….. I wasn’t always the nicest towards him.”   
“I’m not surprised he did: Lord Maeglin is very kind and very noble,” Alassë answered, reaching over the booth to pick up a basket of peaches, so her face was hidden by her hair.   
Laura leaned against the opposite edge of the booth. “Oh? You know him?”   
“Would that I did!” Alassë answered. “But no……..I am both Sindarin and a commoner. Oh, these peaches are all bruised. We should go-”  
“Do you like Lord Maeglin?” Laura asked.  
Alassë blushed in the starlight. “Gods, no!”   
“No, you do not like him. You’re in love with him, right, Alassë?” Laura said with a smile.  
“No!”   
“Oh, give it up, Alassë! You’re in love with him. You all but confessed it to me.”   
“You…….you will not tell him?” Alassë asked finally, reaching over the wooden stand and taking Laura’s hands.   
"Why not? Don’t you want him to know?” Laura asked.   
Alassë looked terrified at the idea. “No! Laura, you can’t! It will be a joke to him…”  
“Maeglin is not like that,” Laura said quickly.  
“No, I know. I know. But don’t you understand, Hwa-Young?” Alassë answered, with tears in her eyes. “I have no chance. I am a commoner, a Sindarin commoner. Do you know what the Noldor think of us? Woodland savages! How do you think he would see me?” She paused, gulping in air in ragged sobs. “Since he came, he has seemed so kind, so intelligent! And folks call him “the Bastard Prince” or “Dark Elf” o-or “Son of Shadows”!” She paused again, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know why he’s mistreated, but if I could…….I would show him that the twilight is twice as beautiful as the day!”   
Laura leaned over and put a hand on Alassë’s shoulder. “I’ve never really wanted to be a matchmaker. I won’t say anything. It’s not my business, it’s yours.”   
She said this in a tone of finality that she hoped would comfort Alassë, but only hurt her. Secretly, the Elf-maid had hoped that maybe Hwa-Young would speak to Lord Maeglin. How else would he even know that she existed? If she ever wanted to speak to him, she would have to do it on her own, and she knew she did not have the courage for that. 

*** 

Twilight was falling: blushing Vàsa smiling at the moon-rise, as she hides her face below the Echoriath, although her arms, gold and violet, yet lingering in the sky.   
Glorfindel was walking through the Great Market, watching this sunrise. Above all else, he loved to wander through this white city. City, yes, but it was more than that. It was a song in his bones, a song of nurture and safety that was loud and sweet. Gondolin was built out of marble, but it was also built out of tears and blood and memory, and some of those were his.   
So he walked often through the city, whenever his duties permitted him this, and greeted all the Gondolindrim he passed.   
So it was with a jolt that he saw Hwa-Young in the market, working with a small, golden-haired elleth to pack away the booth for a night. He was surprised and also pleased to see how the woman wished the elleth a good night, and was about to go over and greet her, when Hwa-Young began to walk away.   
He followed her at a safe distance, but a painful dart of jealously surprised him when he saw her round the corner of a street and greet Maeglin. Jealously grew into anger when he saw them talking together and when he saw her smile.   
Whatever they were talking about, it was clear that Hwa-Young harmonized with Maeglin, and that did not please her. He had opened her shell, but Maeglin was reaping the fruit of his labors.   
But even in the turmoil of his emotions, Glorfindel recognized that he was, in a way, the culprit. He had pushed her away without the justice of a reason, and he had done ill.   
"I have done you a wrong,” he told himself. “But I will compensate you, Hwa -Young . I will not do the same again."  
He left the market. 

*** 

"He's gone," Maeglin announced suddenly.   
"What?”   
"Lord Glorfindel is gone,"   
"Lord Glorfindel? He was here? "Laura asked, feigning surprise.   
Maeglin only smiled. “You knew he was here, Hwa-Young. Sometimes I think you are a very good performer, and sometimes I think you are a very bad one."  
Laura ignored the last comment. "What makes you think I knew Lord Glorfindel was following me?”   
"Why did you talk to me?" he retorted.   
“Um, because I want to learn metallurgy,” she replied, as if speaking to an idiot child.   
“Or is it because you want to make Lord Glorfindel jealous?” Maeglin asked in the same tone. Laura’s insolent façade slipped for a moment under her surprised, and Maeglin smiled languidly.   
"How did you know that I knew Lord Glorfindel was watching us?” Laura rejoined after a minute.   
"Why else would you talk to me right now?"   
"Why else? Well, because I haven’t seen you all day. It's not like you go into the city very often…”   
Maeglin looked at her under raised eyebrows, inviting her to finish her sentence, but Laura changed the topic. “I felt someone following me. Even if I couldn’t hear him,” she finished curtly. “Mortals can do that, and a little more. But if you’re asking why I didn’t confront him, it’s because I really don’t care.”   
Maeglin’s shrug was apathetic, but he was mildly curious. All the Lords knew she and Glorfindel had spent time together, and so all knew that they had suddenly stopped.   
"I don’t care because he doesn’t care," Laura added after a few moments. “He pushed me away.”   
“So you’ll do the same?”   
Laura nodded.   
“It’s not always wise to do that. Friends aren’t easy to find.”   
It was Laura’s turn to shrug. “I have to go, Lord Maeglin. We mortals must sleep every day.”   
Maeglin did not rise to the bait. “Have a blessed night, then.”   
"Likewise, Lord Maeglin." 

*** 

Maeglin's POV 

'This woman is strange. She is willing to lose a friendship as long as she does not lose the war she imagines to be. She is wrong: winning a war is nothing, because there is never a prize. Only loss.   
Like I am losing Idril. Once she loved me, I think, once she tolerated me, now she hates me. I feel it. But then, who could blame her?   
Válar, aid me.


	31. Viento Nocturno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the strange things still are happening between Lord Glorfindel and Laura...   
> Not to mention that the first encounter of Alassë and her beloved Elf-lord will happen. What will be their reaction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viento Nocturno means in English: 'Night Wind'

Chapter 31: Viento Nocturno

During the following days, Glorfindel had often visited Laura’s cottage, often in the evening, because during the day, it was near impossible to find her. She had found a strange refuge in Maeglin, a new friendship that did not please Glorfindel. He was honest enough to recognize his own prejudice towards the young Mole, but he thought it was grounded in truth.   
But she never came out to greet him when he called. Glorfindel knew she both heard and recognized his voice, and was willfully ignoring him. It astonished him. He had never imagined that such a thing would happen, he would never have imagined that he would hurt her so much. So he thought long and hard about what he could do save their vanishing bond. 

*** 

" Hwa -Young? Are you here?"  
Alassë’s sweet voice echoed emptily around the huge forge of the Mole. It was an enormous place, with a solid, earthy feel to it. There was a kind of chaotic order to it, something that said its master could find what he wanted in the snap of a finger, while it would take others years. Alassë believed Maeglin spent more time here than anywhere else.   
“Can I help you?”   
The voice was a soft baritone, reverberating through her bones. Alassë looked around, and her breath caught in her throat as the blood rushed to her head. Maeglin must have seen the shock on her face, for he smiled slightly.   
“Welcome. I do not often see my kin in the forges.” His voice was rich, magnetically compelling.   
“Your kin?” she managed.   
He shrugged as if to say, let us not quibble. “Half my kin,” he amended. “But were you searching for someone?”   
“Yes. Yes,” Alassë answered, combing her mind for words. “I was….looking for Hwa-Young, my lord. I don’t know if you have seen her.”   
“I’m afraid she is busy at the moments. Perhaps you could come another time?” he suggested.   
"Oh, that would please me, but Lord Glorfindel is searching for her. Perhaps I could give her the message. It wouldn’t take long,” Alassë added, smiling shyly.   
Maeglin was taken a back. It was not often he was gifted with smile. Alassë was looking at him hopefully, and he thought her eyes were very blue. Not the hue of Idril’s eyes. No, they were lighter, warmer, a bright cornflower blue that glowed with life. So he called Laura, who appeared after a few minutes, with dirty hands and sweat on her forehead.   
“What is it, Lord Maeglin?” she asked. Then she saw Alassë, and began to smirk. "Your friend ..." Maeglin turned to the elleth questioningly.   
"Alassë," she said, smiling.   
"Alassë has brought a message for Lord Glorfindel.”   
“I don’t have time to talk to him,” Laura snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.  
Maeglin looked at her silently, and after a few minutes Laura sighed. “Alright. Let me get my stuff.”   
After they were alone, Alassë said, “You are very convincing, my Lord. She can be quite stubborn when she wants to be.”   
Maeglin nodded, his voice polite. “How long have you known her?”   
“A few months. She is an excellent friend, although a little strange,” Alassë said, her intrinsic cheerfulness prevailing over her fear.   
"Yes, she is strange,” Maeglin agreed. “But it takes all types to make a world, does it not?” He found himself talking freely, and actually wanting to talk to this young Sinda.   
Alassë nodded, smiling. “Indeed it does. All types, from all different upbringings. Where would be the color in this little mosaic of ours if we were all the same?”   
Maeglin was about to answer when Laura appeared again, cleaner, although there were still smudges on her hand. “Until tomorrow Lord Maeglin. Have a blessed day," she said.   
"Likewise, Hwa -Young."   
"May you have a blessed day, my lord," Alassë smiled, curtseying.   
“Likewise, Alassë,"   
The elleth smiled and followed Laura out of the forge.   
Maeglin watched them go until they were out of sight. 

*** 

"So it looks like your dream came too," Laura declared playfully.   
“Oh! He is so courteous and gentle,” sighed Alassë. She was shaking slightly as she walked, and felt her head spinning as if she had drunk too much of a rich wine.   
“And did you tell him what you feel for him?”   
Alassë looked at Laura like the woman was the greatest fool Eä had ever suffered. “No! Of course not!”   
Laura smiled. “I heard part of what you said to him, Alassë. That took guts, my friend, and I’m proud of you for that.”  
Alassë looked down. “You would have done it too,”   
“I would have done it because I don’t care.”   
“That’s a lie.”   
Laura turned sharply on her Sinda friend, who had stopped walking. “You care. You care about Glorfindel. I know you did, because you were hurt when he pushed you away. You care about Maeglin. And I think you also care what I think. Don’t you?” Alassë demanded.   
Laura cursed internally. She had changed so much over these three and half years. Was it good? Was it bad? And she wondered if it was bad because sometimes it hurt.   
“Look!” Alassë exclaimed, pointing towards her booth. “Glorfindel is waiting for you!”   
“I’m not going,” Laura answered. She could deal with pain, but she wasn’t a sadist. She didn’t need to keep changing.   
“Yes, you are.” Alassë answered firmly. “You will go, and you will be well-dressed.”   
“What?”   
Alassë stooped and plucked a white rose from the hedge, and tucked it carefully behind Laura’s rounded ear.   
“You deserved that,” Alassë whispered, and pushed her towards Glorfindel.   
By the Vàlar! She looks beautiful! the Elf-Lord thought, amazed. Laura stood in the street, confused and embarrassed. When she caught Glorfindel’s eyes, she blushed against her will.   
Alassë, already several steps away, waved at her. “I must sell my fruit now, Hwa-Young.”   
Laura was about to call after her, but Glorfindel’s voice made her stop and turn. “Hwa-Young, would you come with me?” 

***

Glorfindel's POV   
' By the Válar! I could not have imagined this woman could look so beautiful! The rose her Sinda friend gave her makes her look so different, and the emotion on her face…..Hwa-Young, you look pretty when you blush--  
It doesn’t matter, of course it does not. I am here to repair our friendship. After all, we are friends, and nothing but that. 

***

  
Laura's POV   
Alassë and I will talk very seriously. Putting flowers in my hair…bullshit! What do you think I am? Some dumbass Elf? I don’t need to look pretty for Glorfindel, and I don’t need to assimilate.   
Blondie looked so surprised. Yeah, who would have that? Your tough little mortal, dancing around with flowers in her hair. But he looks kinda cute with his mouth hanging open.   
Oh crap! What’s happening to me? It’s like the time he gave me the braid, and I kept it, idiot I am. For God’s sake, Laura, he’s not even a friend. Get yourself together. 

***

" And why should I do it, Lord Glorfindel?” Laura asked.   
“I want to show you something,” he answered.   
Laura crossed her arms and smiled. “I don’t care.”   
“Hwa-Young-”   
“Don’t call me that!”   
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise, not at the outburst, but at the flare of emotion that made the woman’s voice crack. “What do you want me to call you?”   
“I don’t. I want you to just leave me alone,” she snapped at him.   
“What if I was going to apologize?” he asked evenly. “What if I asked you to forgive me for pushing you away? What if I said that in token of my regret, I wanted to show you something?”  
He saw her reluctance, but the words seemed dragged out of her. “Where are we going?”   
“Down to the north side of the city.”   
“Why the hell are we going there?”   
“You’ll see,” he said, smiling.   
Laura rolled her eyes, but Glorfindel paid no attention to it. “Come on,” he said, and began to walk. 

*** 

Laura was drinking in the sights greedily. She was seeing what she had not seen for a long time: hundreds of horses, beautiful horses lovingly cared for. Each horse had its own wide stable with straw and fresh water, and an entrance out into a green paddock. There was no saddles or reins in sight, which caught her attention.   
“Elves do not need these things,” Glorfindel explained. “We understand our horses, so we can work together.”   
"How do you do that? I mean, horses are intelligent, but they aren’t telepaths,” Laura asked, really curious.   
Glorfindel gestured, and they both approached a snow-white horse, full-flanked and strong-limbed. "This is Valocco. He knows when I need him to charge or run. We are friends. We look out for each other’s good." He reached up and tugged the stallion’s forelock gently, and whispered something in his ear. Then he turned to Laura. “I’ve told him to greet you. Don’t be nervous.”   
Laura raised her eyebrows. “Why would I be afraid of a horse?” She approached the stallion, and lifted a hand for the horse to smell. After a minute she began to caress Valocco, who whinnied and nuzzled the woman’s hair in answer. She chuckled, and Glorfindel smiled.   
" Well meet, Valocco, "she said   
" Come," Lord Glorfindel said after a moment, "I want to show you this.”   
He led her out of the stables to a huge corral, where several dozen horses were grazing. “The Elves do not choose our horses, our horses choose us. Whichever one chooses you will be yours.”   
Laura looked up at Glorfindel, surprise widening her eyes. “You are…..giving me a horse?” she asked slowly.   
Glorfindel nodded. “You loves horse, do you not? You could ride it around the city, and perhaps I could accompany you sometimes on Valocco.”   
Laura’s face lit up with a girlish joy, and she had to hold back an impulse to embrace Glorfindel. She smiled at him gratefully and climbed over the corral to approach a cream-colored mare that was grazing near the fence. Glorfindel watched her from the other side.   
The animal looked up at Laura and snorted. Laura crouched down a few steps away from the horse, extending her hand slowly. After a minute, the horse sniffed it slowly. She stood as Laura prepared to mount her, but at the last minute thought the better of it, and wheeled sharply away, so that Laura tumbled gracelessly to the ground.   
Glorfindel laughed aloud, and Laura wrinkled her nose at him, leaping to her feet. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”  
Laura moved from on horse to the next, and each time, the story was the same, until Glorfindel finally said, “Hwa-Young, just let them choose you .Horses are intelligent beings, only be patient.”   
Laura sighed, wiping grass stains from her hands on to her tunic. “I know horses are smart. Otherwise one of them would have chosen me.” She shook her head, and began to comb the dust and grass from her hair. “I’m a lost cause. Thank you for the thought, but….”   
A shrill neigh made them both jerk, and then a hubbub of Elven voices arose. A black mare was galloping through the corral, glossy as silk, muscles moving fluidly as she ran. After a minute, she paused, looking back scornfully at the stable hands.   
“Who is that?” Laura asked.   
“She doesn’t have a name. We’ve never been able to tame her.” Glorfindel answered. “And……..Hwa-Young, what are you doing now?”   
Laura had left Glorfindel and approached the mare. She was already in love with it: that mare would be hers, no matter the cost.   
“Hwa-Young!” Glorfindel called in a harsh whisper, but Laura ignored him. The mare was beginning to prance again, ears laid back. “Hey, easy there, girl,” Laura said softly. “Calm down. I said calm down, don’t you understand?” Her voice was becoming harder as the mare ignored her for the third time.  
The mare rushed her, but at the last moment, Laura ducked to the side and seized the horse’s mane, swinging easily on top. The horse reared on its hind legs, whinnying furiously. Laura clung to her back like a limpet as it began to buck and caper. Finally, the mare buckled her front legs and rolled, trying to trap the woman. Laura leapt nimbly out of the way, never letting go of the horse’s mane, although her hand was pinned under the horse’s back in doing so. Both horse and woman lay on the ground, eye to eye.  
After a long moment, Laura let go. The mare shook itself and stood up. Laura did likewise.   
“Peace?” the woman asked.   
In answer, the mare snorted and nosed Laura’s head. The woman laughed. “Yeah, that was a good rodeo. Now, you need a name.” She put one hand on each side of the horse’s face, so their foreheads touched.   
“Good idea,” Laura announced at last, and then turned and began to walk towards Glorfindel, the mare following close behind.   
“Let me introduce you to my horse,” Laura told him. “We’re challenging you to a race.” 

*** 

If Laura’s speed and agility had surprised Glorfindel, he was equally surprised at her horse’s speed and spirit.   
Valocco had found a formidable opponent, and even though his stride was longer, Laura’s mare was never far behind, and they had gone rushing through the Tumladen grasses side by side.   
At last, the mare had put on a sudden burst of speed, pulling ahead of the stallion by a little, and at a whisper word from Laura, rise up on her hind legs, pawing at the air. Valocco swerved sharply to avoid a collision, skidding to an ungraceful halt so that Glorfindel nearly fell off. Laura laughed, dismounting.   
“Karma,” she announced cheerfully.   
“Cheating,” Glorfindel returned.   
“No, that was karma. It’s justice.”   
"Justice?”   
“Yeah. You laughed at me when I fell on my ass. Now it’s my turn. You know what? I’m going to name her 'Viento Nocturno'.”  
"What does that mean?"   
"'Night Wind.’ Doesn’t it fit?"   
Glorfindel smiled. Yes, the name fit perfectly. He was looking around, for to him, watching the sun set over the Echoriath would never grow old, when Laura said, “I forgot! Here is your consolation prize!” She took the white rose, now crushed and bruised, from her windblown hair.   
“I’ll take it with pride,” Glorfindel said. “I prize the creations of Kementári above all gold.”   
Laura laughed incredulously. “You’re not really going to put it in your hair?!”   
"Why not?" He asked, amused at her astonishment.   
"You’re kidding me! It’s crushed and bruised!"   
“Would you give me my consolation prize, please?” he asked, holding out his hand. The woman shook her hand and gave him the rose. Their hands brushed.   
Once again, time stopped, the presence of both horses disappeared, the wind stopped blowing, the stream was not heard, there was nothing and nobody but them in that glass bubble. And once again, it was Laura who broke the charm by jerking her hand away, so the rose fell on the ground. Her voice was angry and cold. “What the hell is going on here? And you better give me a good explanation, or we are going have a problem.”


	32. Music against sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's return to Lord Duilin and Elyéta's plot. What will be the end of it? Not all love stories are all beauty and blossoming flowers after all.

Chapter 32: Music Against Sword

“Oh, no.” She sighed and put the paintbrush down on the lip of the easel. Ardyl rubbed his head against her cheek comfortingly. He was a bird no larger than a clump of thistle-down, and a soft blue, with black-and-white checkered wings. “I’m sorry, Ardyl,” Elyéta said, raising a hand to rub his head. “Your portrait isn’t ruined, of course. It’s only that…..I don’t have the heart right now. But I’ll finish it soon.”   
On the portrait, a blot of white paint marred Ardyl’s blue head-feathers. The shadows that had danced on it, cast by the tree above her, disappeared with the sun. Elyéta sighed again, picked up her brush and then laid it back down. Anger was a ball of white heat in her stomach, and she wanted to let it out, to break the brush, rip the canvas in half.   
Linwë had no right. That was the simple truth he couldn’t understand. It was her life, not his. She had told him that she loved Duilin and that she was certain he loved her.   
And Linwë had laughed. The bastard had dared to laugh. Angry tears had begun to trickle from her unwilling eyes, and he had stopped laughing then, but it was too late.   
‘Elyéta,’ he began, taking her hands in his. ‘Elyéta, I’m sorry. I did not intend to hurt you-’  
She wrenched her hands out of his grasp and fled down the palace corridor. ‘You did!’ she flung back at him over her shoulder. ‘You did hurt me, even after they told you……they told you to keep me safe!’   
Those words were the deadliest dart she could have used against her brother, and she knew it, although she never said, or even thought to say it before that moment.   
“Elyéta? Elyéta?”   
The tree under which she was painting was a colossal weeping willow, with a trunk three times her arm span. Its long branches brushed the grass, forming a natural curtain that she could not be seen through. It was Ardyl’s soft, bubbling song that gave her away. Duilin was the master of birds. He loved them, and he knew their tongue. What it was Ardyl gave away Elyéta never knew, but it brought Duilin through the silver curtain to stand before her.  
“Little traitor,” she said, without real anger. Ardyl flew to a low hanging branch, and perched there, warbling contentedly to himself.   
“Elyéta, we need to speak.”   
She smiled tiredly at him. Her anger was draining away and with it all her normal vivacity. She felt very dull as if all her feelings and her thoughts had suddenly faded, becoming lackluster. “We do, my lord.”   
He shook his head impatiently. “Elyéta, please. Both of us know we are beyond this lording business. I need to speak with you about your……Elyéta!”   
She felt his wave of concern reach out and touch her heart, warming it. She was not crying, but she was very close to it. Duilin reached her with one long stride and put his hands on her shoulders. She had never realized how warm and comforting he smelled. His simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the anger and regret that had settled inside her. “Elyéta, tell me!” he demanded, his gaze hot and intense. “If someone hurt you, I swear-”  
“Please, no. I talked to Li…my brother,” she said thickly. “And we fought.” Hysteria was beginning to fragment her voice. She had fought with Linwë. His smell, like pines and firs, and a little of sweat beneath, rooted her again. “I fought with Linwë,” she repeated, more calmly this time. “But you cannot hurt him. Please, you have to promise.” She tilted her face up towards his. “He’s only trying to help, and you cannot be angry someone for that.”   
“You were.”   
She winced at this, although it was not said as a rebuke. “I can be wrong too,” she replied, trying to sound teasing.   
Duilin looked at her, eyebrows knit together and she felt his concern touch her again. “Elyéta…I cannot take up any quarrel with Linwë. It ould hurt you. And I cannot hurt you…..I would rather die than hurt you!” he finished in an impetuous rush.   
Her eyes widened; she placed her hand against his chest. “Don’t say those things unless you mean them.”   
“I mean them!” he exclaimed earnestly. “Elyéta, I’ve never said words I meant more!”   
The rising wind blew their hair back from their faces. She suddenly looked down, dropping her hand. “Duilin, I am honored that you would lay down your life for me, but it’s not---it’s not--this is for fairytales. You’re a lord and lords wed……they don’t wed folks like me.”   
“Then look at what they lost,” Duilin said, recapturing her hands before they could link behind her back. “Elyéta, do you think I care that you were born in one house and I was born in another? Why does it matter?”   
“Duilin, you are a noble-”  
“Ungoliant take that like she took the Two Trees! Do you think I care about that, Elyéta? I would go anywhere, do anything, to be with you!”   
There was a silence as he lost himself in her smile, soft and sweet and surprised. He suddenly understood that he wanted to see that smile forever. So he made his decision in the blink of an eye, and a cosmos opened up to him. “I must tell you something.”   
Her gaze was warm, expectant, trusting. “Then tell me.”   
Duilin drew in a deep breath, and let in out with a shuddering sigh. “Elyéta, what I am about to say……it might……..seem-”   
“Lord Duilin?”   
The Swallow-Lord turned almost savagely on the page: a young Noldo ellon who jumped nimbly backward. “What is it?”   
“The King called a meeting, my Lord.”   
“Did Balrogs invade the Great Market and steal all the goods?” Duilin growled. Elyéta was trying to pull her hands away, seeing the page’s fear transform into amazement as his gaze widened to take in her. Duilin held them captive in a gentle grip, keeping his eyes locked on the page’s. “Well, what is it, Maethor?”   
“I’m not privy to the details, my lord,” Maethor said serenely. “All I know is that it is a pressing matter. I apologize for the interruption. May your day continue to be blessed.” He bowed and pushed through the willow branches.   
Duilin looked at Elyéta, brought her hands up and kissed them, ignoring the thwarted rage that began to burn in his belly. “I will tell you later then.”   
She smiled at him, and her smile lit up her face. “Keep rehearsing them.”   
He nodded at her and grinned back. “I have them all by heart.” Then he ducked under the branches and was gone, leaving Elyéta alone with her ruined painting.   
~.~   
The only sound in the Council chamber was the soft sound of Duilin’s pacing. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the grey horizon. The sky was pregnant with thunder and laden with lightning, and the air was inundated with the mystic frisson that always precedes a huge thunderstorm. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up from it.  
He didn’t notice: the storm approaching from outside could hardly dream of matching the maelstrom in his head. His thoughts were murky, confused, ricocheting from polar extremes. Anger at Linwë, at the page, at the King who called a council and then did not come. Love, because Elyéta existed and he could touch her. And fear. Yes, fear. Duilin had not been afraid often in his short life. He had been given the lion’s share of courage, and of rashness. But he was afraid now, because he thought he had held their moment in his hands, and then let it go. He had wanted to give her his soul, and in exchange, he had gotten this silent chamber.   
Outside, thunder grumbled far away. He watched clouds scud across the sky, black-bottomed keelboats running high and heavy. His hands were clenched into fists, the tendons on his tightly muscled arms standing out in stark relief against his brown skin.   
“Duilin! I did not expect to see you here.”   
Duilin spun quickly, jerked suddenly out of inner chaos. “Egalmoth! At last!”   
“At last?” the other lord asked curiously.   
Duilin frowned at him. “At last, yes. The King summoned an urgent council.”  
“Duilin,” Egalmoth said gently, “I think you should know that the King is playing chess with his daughter. There is no need for a council. All is quiet--I should know, I just returned from my watch. I think you were the victim of a prank, my frie-”  
“Not a prank!” Duilin roared. His voice flew around the silent arches like a fiery whip-crack. “Oh, gods! The lying cockalorum-”  
“Duilin.”   
“The bastard!” Duilin raked his hands through his hair, eyes blazing. “I am such a fool-”  
“Duilin!” Egalmoth’s voice rang out authoritatively. “Calm yourself!”   
Duilin’s laugh was taut and dangerous. “Calm myself? Calm myself?!!!”   
“Duilin, talk to me.” Egalmoth was one of the finest horse-trainers in the city because he had the perfect balance of calm authority and thoughtful kindness. Duilin, although he would have never admitted it in ten thousand years, relied on Egalmoth to rein in his anger like he reined in a wild horse.   
Duilin drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Linwë. It was a ploy to get me away from his sister.”   
Egalmoth looked at him in surprise. “Sister?” He watched a strange, sweet expression cross Duilin’s narrow features. “Aye, sister. She is the most beautiful thing in the world, Egalmoth. And honey looks bitter besides her!” Duilin’s eloquent face changed again, back to wrath. “But her brother is a strutting bastard. And after what he did-”  
“Duilin,” Egalmoth broke in. “Do not promise anything too rash. This Linwë you speak of, is he is Linwë the Silver-Tongued?”   
Duilin snorted. “Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. Linwë the Liar is what I call him.”  
Egalmoth carried on. “If this elleth is Linwë’s sister, my friend, I think you should be careful what you do or say to him.”   
“Elyéta would understand!”   
“If you killed him, or even put him in the Healing Houses? I think not.”   
Duilin paused for a moment, his eyes considering. Then he shook his head. “Egalmoth, if you knew what he has done, you would not be advocating for him.”   
“I’m not advocating for him, I’m advocating for you, and for your Elyéta.” Egalmoth returned. “Talk to this Linwë, threaten if you want--words are wind, but remember that family has a bond that isn’t broken easily. And remember one other thing: I think he is only trying to care for Elyéta. You need to convince him that you have always loved his little sister.”   
“I need to convince him of nothing!” Duilin flamed.   
“I think you do,” Egalmoth retorted. “I said convince him that you love Elyéta and make this easier for all of you.”   
“At times I think you are a milksop, Egalmoth,” Duilin answered mildly, but he looked eager to be off.  
Egalmoth shook his head, concerned. “Duilin-”  
The other held up his hand. “I am not deaf: you do not need to repeat yourself. Thank you for your council.”   
Egalmoth sighed. “Duilin, just remember this. I am your friend.”   
Duilin turned from the doorway, and his face softened. “Egalmoth, that is one thing I would lay my life on. I know at times it must seem that I only come to you for counsel, but it is because I find your council the wisest in the city. I will come back in the evening.”   
The other smiled, “I wish you all the luck of the stars, my friend!”   
Duilin, already darting down the hallway, called back, “And the same to you!” Then in a lower voice, he muttered, “And the same to Linwë, for he’ll need it more than I.”   
He went to the House of the Swallow first. Unlike most Lords, the Swallow roosted with his soldiers, and not in the palace.   
His second in command, a small and wiry runner with black hair braided harshly back from her face, called Rámalë, nodded to him. “It is good to see you again, my lord. It has been a while.”   
Duilin arched an eyebrow at her. “Do not say you have missed me,”   
Rámalë snorted. “Feeding your vanity is the last thing I need to do. There is a message for you in your quarters, my lord.”   
Duilin, already on the winding stairs that led to his rooms, turned back to her hopefully. “Who delivered it?”   
She shrugged. “I did not see.”   
Duilin turned on his heel and darted up the flight, taking the steps in gigantic bounds. Outside, the fading stormy light was disappearing. He opened his door to find a flattened roll of creamy parchment pushed under the gap. He snatched it up, already thinking it was from Elyéta, and read.   
Swallow, my sister’s heart is not glass, so do not break it.   
Swallow, my sister’s love is not dear to you, so forsake it.   
She is naught to you but a savory before the main course   
Naught to you but a flower to be crushed without remorse 

You seek to take a hold upon her heart, and then deceive it   
You seek to betray her, to win her loyalty and then leave it   
To shatter her glass heart, and twist the shards into her chest   
Use lies and veiled mockery to induce agony into her breast

You seek to lead her down a path with heartbreak at the end   
Beguile her with roses, then betray her to thorns as you pretend   
You are no swift-flying bird, Swallow. You are naught but a cur   
How many times have you broken glass hearts before?  
Below it was signed a name, but Duilin did not read it. His rage was bitter but immensely satisfying. He was angrier then he had ever been his life before, but instead of fire, his monstrous fury had crystallized into ice. He folded the parchment, placed it in his belt, and left the House quietly.   
He already knew where Linwë lived. He had asked Lord Ecthelion in private, in an attempt to find out more about Elyéta, and had learned that the two lived in a stone house on the northern shoulder of the citadel.   
Duilin knew the city better than most and found the house without trouble. It was a small and many-windowed house, fronted along its whole width by a pillared porch and a flight of steps down to the street. There was no rain yet, but the wind was still rising, laughing like a loon among the pillars. Things stood out in a kind of dreamlike steely relief: shadowless, clear, chiseled.  
Linwë looked up from where he sat on the steps, his lyre between his knees. “Hail, Lord Duilin,” he said quietly. “What brings you down to mingle with the common-bloods?”   
Duilin smiled, a hard and bright desert smile, like dry sun winking off mica, and came to the bottom of the steps. “I received your message,” he answered, and held up the parchment. The wind tried to pull it from his hands. Still smiling, Duilin tore it in half and threw it to the gale. Linwë watched it go, and then looked back. “So I see.”   
“How strange you happened to be there in the gardens,” Duilin continued.   
“Coincidence,” Linwë remarked, with apparent unconcern. He strummed a few notes on his lyre, and the wind hurled them away.   
“I do not believe in coincidences. The Weaver does not weave carelessly,” Duilin continued.   
“No?”   
“No.”   
There was a cold silence. Thunder roared, closer now, and they both see the chilly white light as lightning struck over Tumladen.   
“Are you waiting for an apology?” Linwë asked. He was still playing. The tune was hard to pick out over the gusting of the wind, but Duilin thought it was the same melody that he had played during Turuhalmë.   
“No,” he replied. “That would be too little, and far too late.”   
“Is that a threat, Lord Duilin?” Linwë shook his head rebukingly, his hands gliding over the lyre strings. His tone was calmly instructional. “Remember, you are a noble.”   
Duilin leaped on the stairs to stand directly in front of the minstrel. “I’m not here.”   
Linwë shook his head again and looked down at his lyre. “Yes, you are. You are anywhere. And that’s why you think you can play with my sister’s heart.”   
“Look at me when you say that,” Duilin growled.   
Linwë looked up, and their hot gazes welded together, grey and blue. “I said, Lord Duilin, that you think your title gives you the right to play with my sister’s heart. I will tell you this too. You are a coldhearted and coldblooded whoreson who intends to use my little sister and then throw her away.”   
Duilin pounced on him then, like an enraged panther. He snatched the lyre away and smashed it against the pillar. It fell to the ground, demolished into splinters. Then Duilin seized the player, jerking Linwë upright by the collar of his jerkin. “I would kill you,” he snarled into Linwë’s face, “It is only because-”  
“Only because what?” a high clear voice demanded behind them. Duilin turned, letting Linwë go. Elyéta was coming up the stairs, her grey eyes wide and feverishly bright. “Pray tell me, Duilin.”   
Duilin said nothing. He felt his mouth dry up under the ferocity of her stare, and he dropped his eyes.   
Elyéta was standing in front of him now, her black hair blown out of their braids by the wind. The bushes around them danced in syncopated tidal waves, showing their pale undersides on the wild onslaught of the storm. An then it began to rain. It pounded down madly, and they were instantly drenched where they stood on the stairs.   
“It is my time to speak!” she screamed at them over the tempest. “I am not a prize to be fought over! I am not chattel! And I am not some rope you can play tug-of-war on! I am a woman and you will let me speak my mind!”   
“Elyéta, no one said you were chattel!” Linwë cried, and would have said more, but Elyéta moved on him with wild quickness and slapped him on the face. It sent him reeling backward, holding his cheek, a stunned hurt in his eyes.   
“I said it was my time to speak!” she flared back. “You will never let me choose my own paths! You tried to play a mother and a father but you become a tyrant! Linwë, I love you, but it’s time for you to let go!”   
He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand warningly, her eyes dangerous. Rain poured over her face; it sheeted down on the streets. “Hold your peace!”   
Linwë closed his mouth. Duilin, in some remote and completely calm island of his mind, thought she was crying, but could not tell. What Elyéta had done was so far from what he knew of her, he could only stare, his gaze riveted.   
Not more than half of one minute had gone by. Never before had Duilin noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The clock says it is measured and constant, tick-tock, part of an orderly world; the clock lies. The past thirty seconds had passed like an hour, and still, his dazed mind, shocked out of its complacent rut could only reel around. He was reaching out his hand for her when she made a strange noise, half sob, half shout, and fled into the storm.   
When the last flash of her blue dress was gone, his sense of time returned. Thunder shouting overhead, he snapped his head around to see Linwë with his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and Duilin thought he was crying. He almost reached out to comfort, then snapped his hand back. This one had brought it on his own head.   
He turned and ran after Elyéta.   
~.~   
He found her running pell-mell along a narrow stone bridge. Below, the pond was slate-gray, pocked with raindrops. The pale flowers on its surface danced a wild waltz, and Elyéta reeled against the polished stone side. The unsympathetic cacophony of rain drowned out his footsteps, so she spun around in surprise when he touched her shoulder. The look on her face shriveled his heart.   
“Elyéta-” he began and got no further.  
“Close your mouth, Lord Duilin,” she said, in an icy voice that carried below the storm instead of over it. “Close your mouth because whenever you open it you lie.”  
Her words forced him a step back, and his own anger began to boil up. “Elyéta, it wasn’t like that!”   
She slapped him with stinging force. “Close your mouth!” she shouted at him. “If my brother was only right about one thing, it was you! All your nobility comes from your title and not your heart!”   
He put a hand to his cheek, feeling the mark of her fingers. Her hair was plastered to her face, her blue dress black.   
“You lied to me about Linwë!” The shriek of the storm carried her voice up an octave. “I think you lied to me about everything else, Duilin!” Now he knows she is crying, and his eyes sting with their own tears, but he won’t cry, not yet, not yet, and maybe he won’t need to.  
“You lied to me!” she cries, again. “And I wish by the West I never have to see you again!”   
He drifts away, to that calm island in his mind, and weeps there inside, watching her lips move, deaf to her words, feeling his heart breaking and breaking and breaking.   
Glass hearts? Were not all hearts, in the end, glass? So perfect and so fragile and so hard to fix?  
He was drowning in a sea of uncried tears. So he walked away, feeling blank and cold inside, and wanting to cry but not able too.   
Elyéta watched him go, and then crumpled onto the bridge, hugging her knees to her chest and began to cry, raw sobs that choked her throat and did not allow her to breathe.   
Thunder whacked above her, and the rain pounded down, cold and cruel.


	33. The mystery is revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So finally! The true identity of Laura has been discovered but not by surprise but by herself. Does she feel something for Lord Glorfindel that she preferred to allow herself to be discovered than see him die?

Chapter 33: The mystery is revealed

Yesterday’s storm had passed like a bad dream, and today Gondolin was bright and pristine in the afternoon sun. Tumladen stretched away, a brilliant green sea through which two horses galloped. These were the moments that both Glorfindel and Laura loved the most. When Tumladen became a green blur, and the wind sung its old alchemy in their ears, they found freedom and in freedom, they had found peace.   
Those times when Glorfindel had turned away from her because of a fear he had never truly admitted not even to himself, had passed. He cherished their friendship and was delighted in the new person Hwa-Young was becoming.   
Laura’s eyes had been opened by being served a taste of her own medicine. When Glorfindel had pushed her away, it had hurt her more than she thought it could. Her own wanton cruelty had suddenly been unmasked to her, and she not only forgave Glorfindel, but she was sorry as well, though she had never said it. 

***

Flashback  
"Alright, Lord Glorfindel, you better tell me what’s happening. And you better have a good explanation or you and I will have a serious problem," Laura said, her voice hard. She pulled her hand back like he’d bitten her. As if to make doubly sure he wouldn’t grab her hand again, she folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him.  
Glorfindel let his arms fall to his sides, words deserting him. Her eyes searched him, demanding an answer….waiting.   
"What it means is that you are my elf-friend," he said cautiously  
"Elf-friend?" She repeated, with the taunting scorn in her tone he heard so often and hated so much.   
But he had only smiled, accepting it. “Yes. This is what happens with those we considered our friends.”   
She had tilted her head a little to left, dissecting his words and wanting him to know it. “You told me you weren’t the one causing that….feeling.”   
Glorfindel shrugged his apologies. “I did not know what was happening at the time,” he said reasonably, hoping that this would save him from what he intuited in his heart.   
“Oh, that’s a very nice story,” she said. “Come on, Lord Glorfindel, do you think I’m a fool? Just a silly, naïve firíma? Try again.”   
“I never took you for a fool, but you haven’t let me finish my explanation,” he said and began making provision for a rocky road he could not foresee. “To be called an Elf-friend is the highest one we can bestow on anyone. They are those that we would give our lives for. It does not mean love,” he hurried on defensively. “It means a very deep friendship. That is all there is, Hwa-Young,” he finished.  
Laura’s face was expressionless. Glorfindel knew she was weighing her words, trying to find something suspicious. He stared back at her, and felt relief when the mask dropped from her face and she said, “How hard was it to just tell me that in the first place?”   
“As I said, this title is very rare. We do not gift our friendship lightly. I had to be sure, so I went away to think about it. But now I am sure, and I want to call you my Elf-Friend, Hwa-Young,” he said with a smile, as something deeper told him she was much more than he would have dared to accept ... at least at that moment.  
Laura rolled her eyes. “You still could have just said that in the beginning. But I forgive you…Elf-friend.”   
“Thank you kindly, Elf-friend,” he returned.   
Laura stooped, picked up the rose and dropped it into his hand, taking care not to touch it. "Your consolation prize, elf-friend," she said  
Glorfindel laughed. "Thank you," he had said with a beautiful smile that had come from deep within his heart.  
The woman smiled back at him, a frank smile, and mounted her mare once more, and Glorfindel followed.   
End of flashback

***

Glorfindel and Laura had led their horses to a nearby pool to drink. Glorfindel was rubbing down Valorocco with a handful of grass and when he looked up, he saw that Hwa-Young was looking west, her arms crossed and her face thoughtfully. He looked down quickly again, unable to stop the thought that flashed across his mind. The way the setting sun lit up her profile made her look…almost beautiful.   
“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence and startling both the horses and Glorfindel, who looked up at her again. He stood a little behind her, looking out across Tumladen. The sky was brilliant with crimson and gold, and the thin clouds were purple. It set the grass on fire, and although they stood in a hazy pool of pale pink thrift and yellow celandine, all around them Tumladen seemed to glow with its own inner light, ringed around by the black mountain Its beauty was so immense it was nearly frightening.   
“I think it is the most beautiful place on this side of the Sea,” he said softly, with real reverence.   
“To think I could have ever hated this place!” she said disbelievingly.  
“I do not think anyone could ever hate it here,” he answered, and that was when Ecthelion rode up. “Glorfindel! Hwa-Young!”   
“Lord Ecthelion,” Laura answered, returning his smile.   
"What is wrong, my friend?" Glorfindel asked, seeing his friend’s face.   
“We need to return to the city now,” Ecthelion answered. “Mount your horses.”   
Glorfindel would have laughed, but Ecthelion’s face told him it was no laughing matter. As a warrior first, Glorfindel knew it was better to act first, question later. “Come on, Hwa-Young. Get your mare. We are leaving,” he said.   
“Why?” she demanded. “I have not seen anything.”   
“That is alright. Just get your horse.” Glorfindel answered quietly.   
Ecthelion had not dismounted, now he leaned forward. “Hwa-Young, do as he says. We think there are Orcs in the valley. Come now,”   
“But-” she protested.   
"We're not asking you, Hwa-Young!" Snapped Lord Glorfindel "We leave right now!"  
But the young woman did not move. She took a deep breath, and then muttered, “Oh, shit.”   
""They have surrounded us,” Ecthelion murmured. Purple dusk enveloped the field.   
“Not yet,” Glorfindel said grimly. Unsheathing his sword with one hand, he grabbed Hwa-Young’s arm with the other and shoved her behind him, between him and Ecthelion. Protected as she could be.. “Where are the bastards?”   
“Hold, Glorfindel,” Ecthelion said. “Can you smell them now?” They all could, that familiar reek of decay. The grass swayed, and then a shriek, guttural, atavistic, a horrible echo of Turgon’s call to arms, split the dusk. Tall, still pale from the dungeons, the orcs ran towards them, defiled and defiling. Clad in scaled armor, wielding scimitars and black bows, they made an ever-tightening circle around the three.   
“Varolocco!” Glorfindel shouted, above the battle-clamor. “Take Hwa-Young! You will bring help!”   
Laura looked first to the horse, and then to Glorfindel. The part of her that had been nurtured for so long--the assassin that looked out for herself first and foremost told her to obey. If she stayed, she would have to fight, and to fight meant to reveal. But there was another part, a part she had put in a coffin long ago, but that Glorfindel had somehow resurrected. ‘You are friends,’ this part clamored at her, rebuking, denying, defying. ‘Do you even remember what the word means, Laura Kinney? Friends mean people who take care of you and people you take of! Friends mean people who don’t lie to you! Friends are people you don’t lie to!’   
She saw the goblin behind aiming a black-fletched arrow at Glorfindel’s back, and her head simply had no more room for thoughts. She lunged for Glorfindel, pushing him aside, and there was a pulpy thump as the arrow buried itself in her belly.   
Glorfindel had been shoved to his knees by the ramming force Laura had pushed him with. He looked upon hearing the soft, horrible thud, and fear rose like blood in his throat. “No! Wait!” he said aloud, his hands growing cold. Then the woman was sitting up, pulling the bloody arrow out of her stomach with a grimace of pain. Black fluid, Orcish poison trickled down her side as the wound began close, knitting itself together in seconds.   
The grimace stretched her thin lips into a smile now, a dangerous and awful smile that horrified Glorfindel. She rolled to her feet in one motion, the arrow clutched in her hand, and leaped on the archer, who stood aiming his bow ten feet away. She crashed into him, knocking him over, ramming the arrow into the Orc’s eye. Then she jerked it out, and slit his throat with the tip. Blood spurted in a crimson spray, soaking her dark clothes.   
Then she spun on the other orcs who had crowded around her with a bloodthirsty ferocity. When the arrow broke, she rammed both halves into an orc’s eyes and then shoved him away.   
Now she stood, encompassed by corpses. She clenched her first, and from the knuckles of both hands emerged metalic claws, while talons from her feet ripped free of her shoes. She stood with her legs apart, knees bent, and her arms flexed.  
Then the world turned red.  
There was screaming, screams of pain, calls of to rally, shrieks of challenge. Glorfindel and Ecthelion fought back to back, cutting a line through the phalanx than doubling back, mowing them down like hay before a scythe. Laura fought alone, with the cruel strength of a tiger’s charge, hacking viciously.   
Glorfindel jabbed his sword through the goblin rushed at him, then turned sideways with his hand on his belt, using the knife to swipe the tender throat of another. He saw Laura slice downwards with her claws, releasing an orc’s guts, then stab it through the heart. She looked feral then and when she looked at him, it seemed like she did not recognize him, and he was both angry and afraid.   
Tumladen was silent again, buried in a late grey twilight. There was a breeze, but even that could not carry away the heavy reek of death.   
Laura straightened, her clothes tattered and matted with gore. Glorfindel saw a glimpse of ruthless delight in her eyes, and it chilled him. Then it winked it, and she dropped her eyes. He saw her face change, crumple inward and give way to an enormous sadness.   
She approached and opened her fists. The claws retracted with a metallic grating. She held out her hands to be tied, and said in a dull, hollow voice, “My name is not Hwa-Young but Laura Kinney, and I surrender unconditionally.”


	34. X-23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we'll know Laura's past life and maybe just maybe the Elf-lords and us too understand her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a couple of differences in the canonical story of the character of X-23 because it suited to the story.

Chapter 34: 'X-23'

She stood in the Council Hall, under the cold scrutiny of twelve lords, manacled and loaded with chains. The gorgeous sunset she and Glorfindel had admired so much had faded, and now the moon was rising in its house of silver silence, casting long shadows the lanterns could not dispel.   
It was a long time until Turgon spoke, and his voice was an outrage in the stillness.   
“Who are you?”   
“Laura Kinney,” the woman repeated, her face coldly impassive. Gore was drying on her clothes and hands, and there was a streak of blood across her cheek like barbarian war paint.   
“Laura Kinney,” Turgon repeated cynically.   
“Yes. I don’t have a reason to lie to you, your Majesty.” There was a tinge of mockery in her voice, although her face was expressionless. “I dropped my façade. Why would I try to carry it on?”   
“So why would you lie to us at all?”  
“Maybe because it was so easy,” Laura countered. “You might not have been the easiest to trick, but you certainly were not the hardest.” She felt the frisson of anger that statement created and smiled inwardly.   
“Who then have you lied to?” The King asked. His tone was reasonable, even equitable.   
“A better question would be: who haven’t it?”   
“I am asking the questions. Please answer them.”   
Laura shrugged. “I have lied to more people than you can ever imagine. I’ve killed them too. I have killed animals. I have killed men, woman, children, and babies. I’ve tortured them all too,” she added casually.   
Exclamations of disgust and horror filled the chamber until the King raised his staff. “Why?” he asked coldly.   
“It was my job,” Laura answered. “I was a mercenary, and an assassin.”   
“And who gave you that task?” Penlod asked, shocking out his typical gentle silence.   
“The Facility. I was created there.”   
“You were born there?” Turgon asked.   
“No. Created. Unlike you, I was not born because mummy and daddy loved each other. I was made there because they wanted a killer. Nature and nurture.”   
“You are a monster,” Glorfindel spat.   
“And you are so naïve!” she flashed back. “You all are, but you most of all, Blondie!”   
“Save your tongue!” Turgon said harshly. “You answer to me, and to me alone.”   
“I answer to no one.”   
Duilin stood up. “Shut your mouth, woman! You are facing the High King.”   
“Or what?” she mocked. “Are you going to scold me, Duilin?”   
One grasshopper jump brought the Swallow less than a step away from Laura, his short-sword already drawn.   
"What?" She said. "Are you going to kill me? Go ahead, try it… if you can.” She clenched her fists, and her claws materialized. In a movement so unanimous it was choreographed, the Lords drew their weapons, making a circle around her.   
Laura laughed sourly. “You can’t kill me. Look.” In a blur of movement, her claws moved, one slashing her throat, the other piercing her chest. A fountain of blood spouted out, spilling down in her clothes and pooling onto the floor. She withdrew her claws, and the wounds knit themselves back together in the blink of an eye. “You forgot that little detail,” she said, a horrible smile ghosting her lips. “You can’t kill me, you can’t poison me. I do not grow old or get sick. I can live for weeks without food or water. So what you are going to do with me, my dear Elves?”   
She opened her hands, and her claws retracted with a dry, metallic sound. “I said I would surrender, so let’s keep this little interrogation going. But you need to figure out what you are to do with me.”   
“Why did the Unnamed send you, and how did you find the Hidden City?” Turgon asked at last.   
“Who, Morgoth? Don’t know the guy.” Laura looked around her, sensing the sudden threat, and realized she might have gone too far at last. “Ok…I mean, the Unnamed One. I don’t know him.”   
“What about the Facility?” Ecthelion asked at last. “What is that, and where is it built?”   
Laura’s blank mask seemed to crack for a moment. “You want to know about that?” she asked coldly. “Fine, I tell you. Then you’ll know how I really am.” 

***

"Looks like the boss is pissed," said a doctor, standing by the fluid-filled cell that housed on of their fetal experiments, as his colleague checked the embryo's vital signs.   
The Facility was a secret organization oblivious to any government liaison.   
“Yeah, he fought with Sarah Kinney again,” remarked the other, straightening up and jotting a number down on his clipboard.   
"Again?" the doctor asked. "I thought they got along! They were dating or something,"  
“Well, no. The boss wants things done one way and Kinney wants them done another.”   
Sarah Kinney was an eminent doctor, who worked in Genomic Sciences and various branches of Biology. She had started as one of the many doctors who worked at the Facility, but because of her intellect, she had gone up the ranks until she had come to be in charge of Project X, the project that would create the perfect spy, mercenary and murderer to serve the Facility. her intellect she had gone up the ranks until she had come to be in charge of the 'X' project that was to create the perfect spy, mercenary and murderer to serve for the Facility projects.  
Noticing the beauty and intelligence of Doctor Kinney, the director had fallen in love. A courtship had ensued, but it had become stormy because of the way he meddled with Kinney’s project. At last Kinney had promised she would abandon the project if he didn’t stop, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.  
And the Facility Director didn’t like people telling him what to do. 

Eight months later ...  
High screams rattled around the soundproof walls, forcing their way through air vents.   
“One more push,” the doctor said, standing over Kinney’s bed of pain. “One more and it will be over, Sarah.”   
Sarah lay back, breathing hard with closed eyes, trapped in a jail cell of fear, confusion, and pain. She strained, she screamed, and then a baby’s cry jolted her eyes open.  
The nurse’s back was turned, she was doing something with a blanket. Sarah caught her breath. Then the nurse turned, smiling, telling her it was a girl, it was healthy, it was beautiful. She showed Sarah a baby swaddled in white, bright green eyes and fluff of black hair.   
Sarah shoved the nurse away with as much strength as she had left. “Get that thing out of here! Get that monster out!” she shouted.   
“But-”  
"I said get that little monster out of my sight!" Sarah screamed furiously.  
"Do what she asks you," a male voice said. It was the father, the Facility director. He took the newborn away from the nurse and smiled down at Sarah. “You don’t need to hate her, sweetheart. But if you really feel that way, you don’t need to see her. This baby belongs to the Facility, right, X-23?”   
The baby mewled, reaching out with a tiny hand to clutch at the Director’s finger.   
“Ah! You are strong, X-23!” the Director exclaimed, delighted. He turned to meet Sarah’s gold glare. “Very good work. You have achieved what no one else could. Thank you for lending us your body.”   
“Take it away,” she repeated.   
“Of course,” he said. He kissed her sweat-sheened forehead and then left with the newborn.   
Sarah had lent her boyfriend her womb so that number 23 would live. All the other fetuses had died, but X-23 had been the exception. She was the apotheosis of a human, without defect. The Director intended to make her without a soul, too.   
Three years later…  
"Well, well. I like it,” said the Director, looking down at the three-year girl, then to the carnage she had created on the snow. A doe and her fawn were there, shredded into pieces, the snow flooded with their blood.  
During those three years, the Facility had been training X-23. As soon as she could walk, she had been made to run marathons. She was born with stamina that surpassed an athlete’s. Her skeleton was covered with adamantium, unbreakable metal. She had a pair of claws of the same metal hidden in her hands and another in each of her feet. She had perfect vision, an incredibly developed nose, and faultless hearing.   
And from a very young age they had taught her to put into those elements into play; to catch and to kill. They had released the toddler into the woods with a ration of food and jacket. She had been given three days to hunt down the doe and her fawn.   
X-23 never enjoyed her missions, but she had nothing else to do? She didn’t know what to do than to hunt animals down…..and study. Since she could speak, she had been taught to solve complicated mathematical problems, historical data, knowledge in general that a high schooler would have only started to learn. That was all she knew. If they caught her playing, she was punished.   
Five years later…  
She received her first torture class on her eighth birthday. She learned what places caused the most pain without being directly fatal. She also discovered two words that day: dad and mom. She had searched for their meaning, both in her mind, which already held a goldmine of information and outside. She had learned she had no dad, but she had a mom who worked at the Facility. Escaping from her quarters was not allowed, but they had taught her that too. So she left.   
~.~   
Sarah Kinney opened the door to her office, her green eyes surrounded with dark half-moons, exhausted and exasperated by the results of her latest project. She dropped into her leather chair, closing her eyes gratefully. The folder she was holding slipped from her hands as she did so, and she heard the papers whispering to the floor. She sighed, opening her eyes.   
Then she pressed two hands to her mouth, choking back the scream. An eight-year-old girl was standing by her chair, holding out the folder to her, smiling hopefully. “Hi, Mom.”   
Fear rose hot in Sarah’s throat, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage.   
“Don’t panic, Mom. I will not hurt you. I came to greet you,” the girl continued, still smiling. She spoke in short, stilted sentences. “Your folder fell.”   
Her green eyes still warm with hope, she reached towards Sarah. “Here you go.”   
Kinney jerked her hand away in repulsion and horror. “Get away from me, you freak!” she screamed, jumping out of her chair.   
The girl stared at her. “But Mom…..I just came to greet you. They never let me greet you,” she said plaintively. “They don’t let me greet anyone unless it’s part of the mission.”   
“I don’t care.” Sarah snapped, circling so the desk was between her and the girl. “You’re a monster. Now get out!”   
“But-”  
“How many animals have you killed? How many people?” Sarah demanded, her voice dripping over with disgust and fury. “You are a monster!”   
“I had to do it, Mom! It wasn’t my fault, they told me too!” the girl sobbed. “I didn’t cause I wanted too!”   
“So if they tell you to jump off a cliff, you’ll do it?” Sarah said. “Well, I hope to God they do! And I’m not your mother! You make me sick!”   
Tears flowed down the girl’s face. She had read that a mom loved her child, took care of them, made them happy…  
“But mom, you gave birth to me,” she pleaded.   
“I was impregnated with you!” Sarah shrieked at her. “Those months were a nightmare! You were inside my body and I had to go to sleep with you for eight months! Get out! Get out! You disgust me!”   
The girl was holding out her hands, choking on her tears. She was going to speak when a noise told her she had to leave. So she returned to her cell, dragging a broken heart behind her. It didn’t save her from punishment. Sarah went to the Facility Director and told him everything. They took her to the torture room, one that she would come to know very well. There they stabbed her, shot her, inflicted the most painful and humiliating words on her, the hardest and most hurtful words, the most frightening physical and psychological martyrdoms. And every time she cried, they doubled the pain.   
Sixteen years later ...  
“Your mission is to kill this Shakespearean literature teacher,” said the director, sipping at a cup of coffee. “He has found information that, if it comes to light, could endanger the world order, and therefore us. You have six months to make a psychological profile, seduce him, get the info, and kill him.”   
X-23 nodded and then left the office, taking the same flight her victim took, from the US to England. As she traced him, she read Shakespeare.   
By then, the name of X-23 was a symbol of terror and horror. There was no better assassin or mercenary than her. No matter how intelligent and insightful her victim was, he always fell into her web. No matter how careful he was, she always left behind a try of blood. Her cold cruelty was well known and every order that the Facility gave her was an order she obeyed to the letter.   
One of the many works she read was Hamlet. The story of the Danish prince caught her attention. The love he had for Ophelia…that was interesting but totally foreign to X-23. She didn't know what love was, not even friendship.  
Yes, there were interesting things. The way the uncle killed his brother? He was clever, although there simpler and quieter methods could have been used.   
But there was something else, a phrase that shook her life from the ground up: 'To be or not to be, that is the dilemma'. Those words had been the catalyst for a change she would never have expected.  
'To be or not to be, that is the dilemma'. It was the rhetorical question that Hamlet asked himself once his father's ghost demanded revenge for his murder. The Danish prince knew that vengeance would trigger a series of disasters that would bring many consequences to many, including his beloved Ophelia; but he could not ignore his father's order. That phrase was etched in her memory, to the extent that she made a decision. If she liked being the Kill Machine, which she was called at the Facility, she would keep on being the Kill Machine. But if she didn’t, she would change. Hamlet had been able to choose. He had chosen poorly, but he had chosen. She would also choose her path for the first time.  
And so it had been. First, she decided to be the 'Kill Machine' that everyone feared and knew, but that had brought no comfort or joy. It was the same emptiness inside.  
Her second objective had been an entire family, with two children.   
‘Please, not the children!’ the father had begged on his knees, while the mother clutched her two children.   
X-23 looked at him and then said, ‘Only take what you need. You have five minutes,’ she said shortly.   
The man looked at her, tears frozen into his beard.   
‘Do you want me to kill you?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t have a lot of patience.’   
When they had assembled outside the house, X-23 had singled the father out, and said, ‘You have diamonds. Don’t flood the market with them, stay hidden the rest of your life. If you don’t, it’s not my problem.’ Then she had shoved him away, ‘Get out of here!’   
But before they had disappeared into the darkness, the father had turned and said, ‘Thank you.’   
X-23 had tried. Tried to start a new life. Tried to change.   
But the Facility had found her. The Director had brought her to a room, smiling. “Come here, X-23. I want to see something.”   
And at the press of a button, an iron curtain opened, revealing that the family she had tried to save.   
“I have to admit that you are excellent at everything, but in lying to save someone you are not,” he said, “Did you think you would get away with it? We know what you are and what you are not, and you are not someone who saves. You are someone who destroyed.”   
She was looking at the terrified family, huddled in the corner of the snow-white room.   
At of the corner of her eyes, she said the director take his hand out his pocket, holding a control with a red button in the middle.   
“No!” she screamed, and then was pushed from behind into the room. The last thing she reminded was the wide blue eyes of the children.   
The director of the Facility had activated her feral instinct, subliminal order that went against all her will and turned her into a true animal that shattered, gutted and dismembered in the wildest way that existed. She could do nothing to stop until the director of the Facility pressed the control button again.  
The room was red like grana, pieces of meat and entrails scattered everywhere, silent witnesses of the carnage she had committed. She reeled against the bloody wall and had wanted to cry. She had tried to right by them, and…oh god.  
"You see, X-23?" The director said patronizingly "You were not created to save. You were created to destroy, kill, for that you were created. Don't expect to be the hero now, after all ... who would you think you've tried to change? Now, be a good girl and go to the torment room … you may need a couple of lessons. ”  
For her that had been like death. She felt alone, helpless and her nascent hope disappeared. But there was someone who had realized this. It was Sarah Kinney who for the first time realized who this young woman really was. And she wholeheartedly regretted the damage she had done so many years ago and swore to herself that she would save her from the pit in which the director of the Facility had just sunk her.  
One month after…  
A ... 'gift' so to speak, came to X-23. The title of the book was 'Pinocchio', a book that she had never read before. The story told about the life of a pinewood doll called Pinocchio, who longs to be a real child. A fairy tells him that this will be the case if he behaves well. Unfortunately, Pinocchio behaves very badly. He abandons his elderly father, steals from him, does not go to school, drinks and smokes, and falls lower and lower, until, finally, he acknowledges his mistake and after a series of adventures, Pinocchio reunited with his father and becomes an exemplary son. And one good night, the fairy returns and tells him that, since he is now a good son, he has earned a reward, and makes him a real child.  
That shook X-23. Since she had readHamlet, she had become different. She was more ... human, she thought things over, did not follow orders to the letter without a word. She obeyed them because she didn't want to be tortured or punished, but in her mind, there was always the thought of changing. She also wanted to be a real girl, of flesh and blood that could choose, not the wooden doll that was a puppet to the Facility.  
When she knew who gave it to her, X-23 was stunned. Sarah Kinney had sent her the book, and also a note, to note give up. That just as Pinocchio had achieved his goal and finally be a real child, she would also achieve it. And since then, the doctor, although secretly, was looking for ways to cheer her up and make her see that one day she would change, she could run away and be a real girl.  
Six months later…  
But the director was no fool, and although he had no evidence that there was communication between Dr. Kinney and X-23, he suspected it and was willing to kill his former lover through X-23.   
Following his hunch, the director spied more and more on both of them, but he had taught X-23 too well. and most likely he would have discovered them before if it wasn't because X-23 knew perfectly well how to avoid it.   
But they were discovered, but not because of a failing on X-23’s part.   
The X-Men were a group of people who had supernatural abilities, who could do things that no one else could do and used those skills to fight for the common good. To do this, they recruited all the people who had such skills: 'gifted youngsters'.  
Unfortunately, Sarah’s meeting with X-23 coincided with X-Men attacked the Facility. Their leader, Professor X, had detected the location of X-23 and wanted to rescue her.  
Knowing that they had at last been discovered by the director, the doctor interposed and began to argue with him, and for the first time, had called X-23 ‘her daughter’, which enraged the director; especially when he realized that X-23 considered Dr. Kinney as her mother. Although he knew that almost all was lost know, he pressed the button and tried to leave.  
Sarah, already mortally wounded, shot him in the head, and then deactivated the control.   
When X-23 realized what he had done, she began to cry for the first time in her life. She would never be a real girl anymore. Pinocchio had been a good son, but she ...She had just killed his own mother!  
However, with her last breaths, Dr. Sarah Kinney told her that she was very wrong. One day, she would become a warrior who always won. She apologized for never giving her a name and named her 'Laura' in memory of the laurel plant that represents victory, and gave her daughter her last name. ‘Laura Kinney,’ she said and died.   
The X-Men came and took her to Mansion X, where Professor X through his telepathic power, realized that she had not murdered her mother for pleasure, but because she had been forced by her feral instinct; so the first thing he had done had been to erase that instinct completely.   
Four years later…  
Laura Kinney, still known as X-23 at the time of the fight against different enemies, now used her wonderful abilities to help the X-Men. Now she was leading a different life, doing good, protecting the weak; but that did not mean that her past did not pursue her. Nobody loved her. They didn't even appreciate her, so she decided to protect herself, and lock herself up. And she promised herself that she would not allow anyone to ever get in.


	35. What we see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems that not only Lord Glorfindel shows some sympathy towards Laura. Who else will be?

Chapter 35: What We See

There was a silence, but it was not a kind silence. It was a silence that hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets of silence spun into a kaleidoscopic jumble, spanning the room, until Turgon’s voice shook it apart again.   
“So where is your homeland?”   
“America,”   
“And where is that?”   
“Continent of North America,”  
Turgon looked at her, and there was ice in his eyes. “Keep talking, firíma. Maybe one day you’ll manage to say something true.”   
Laura glared at him, “North Korea and Russia exist. So does America. It is not my fault you lack that knowledge. And for your information, my name is Laura Kinney.”   
“I will call you what I see fit,” said Glorfindel from across the table. “And right now I say you are a lying bitch.”   
Laura looked at him, and the air curdled. A patina of unease flickered across the room.   
Turgon only sighed. “Glorfindel, hold your peace. Kinney, you will answer to me. Riddle me this, how has no one else heard of these lands?”   
Laura shrugged. “Not exactly my problem, is it?” Under the King’s stare, like a stab of ice, she conceded and added, “I don’t know.”   
A murmur of disbelief rose until the king raised the Staff of Doom. The silence was made as if by a charm.   
“I read your books,” Laura continued. “You guys seem to think you’re God’s panacea, but you are fairly advanced. I’ve also gone over your maps quite thoroughly. The geography is nothing like what I know. I guess I’m very far away. Even Xavier can’t place me with his Cerebro.”   
“And what are they?”   
“ Xavier, also known as Professor X, is the leader of the X-Men. 'Cerebro' it is an… an… an object that allows him to find the person he wants just by concentrating.”   
Turgon looked at her with cool disbelief. “So where do the X-Men hail from?”   
"From different countries. The majority comes from America; but some from China, France, Russia, Japan, Egypt, and so on. ”  
“We have not heard of these lands either,” said Lord Ecthelion “and I assure you, Laura Kinney, that you are not the only one who has read all the books we have in Gondolin.”   
Laura raised an eyebrow. “I know that, Lord Ecthelion. I know that among all those present, you are the most cultured, but I can assure you that all the kingdoms of which I have spoken exist. You call your world Ennor. Mine is Earth. Maybe you’ve read about it,” she retorted, a tinge of mockery in her tone, then said. “I don’t think I’m on Earth anymore. To be completely honest, I think I am in a different realm.”   
“So how did you get here?” Duilin goaded. “Are we another one of your missions?”   
Laura looked at him bitterly. “I would watch your words, Lord Duilin. Remember, I was created to kill.”   
Duilin stood up, grinning wolfishly. “If that is a challenge, I accept, firíma,”   
"Enough!" Exclaimed King Turgon "we will not get carried away by your threats, nor will we allow you to make a scene here again.”   
Laura only looked at him, emotionlessly, and Glorfindel realized the shell was closing once again, likely never to open. He felt desperate, impotent rage to see the way his work was falling apart. All those years of effort would be buried in eternity, and terror took hold of his fëa.   
"Laura," he said, trying to maintain a calm tone of voice, despite the frustration and disappointment, "How did you get there? How did you discover our city? ”  
She just looked at him without saying anything, doing nothing, just in front of Lord Glorfindel's blue eyes, a visor had been raised, until he could see a flash of immense sadness and remorse. And there was shame there too, until the visor closed completely.   
"Won't you answer me?" He asked.   
"No,"   
"Then answer me," said a soft baritone voice. It was Maeglin, standing up and speaking for the first time. Laura looked at him for a long time and finally said,  
“I don't know how I got here, nor I have any idea that this city existed.” A frown line wrinkled her brow. “I remember I was running from an enemy of the X-Men. I got away without trouble, but instead of being in the mountains, I found myself running in a forest. I was surprised, of course, but I decided I would be safe here. I wasn’t for long. There was a horrible smell, like a corpse……an Orc. A group of them attacked me. One of them stabbed me with a poisoned arrow. So, in a nutshell: no, I have no idea how I got here. And believe me, it was not my intention to discover a hidden city.”   
"Who are these 'X-Men'. Are you on the side of the Unnamed One?” Maeglin asked.   
"No," Laura replied, "Where I come from there is no 'Unnamed One.' The X-Men are dedicated to protecting the weak and upholding good.”   
“And why do you not say us? Are you not a part of them?”   
“I am not a part of anything,” Laura replied. “I walk alone, I use myself. Who would want to befriend me, my dear Elf-Lords? I don’t believe you would.”   
“One of us did,” Turgon said, looking towards Glorfindel. The young Lord was staring at Laura with a mixture of anger and hot betrayal.   
“Yes, and I lied to him and betrayed his confidence,” Laura said blandly, even if her soul was broken inside. “So I walk alone, and I use myself.”   
Glorfindel was tempted to talk about Remy, but he knew that this would be a grievous error, so he held his peace.  
The King gestured to Rog. “Take her to the cellars. We need to talk alone.”   
Rog stood up, easily towering over Laura, and took her arm. 

***

"Well, my lords, what is your advice?" Turgon asked once Rog had returned.   
"She should be dead,” Rog flashed back. “What kind of beast does those things without remorse?”   
“But men can change, easier than Elves,” observed Galdor, the gentlest of the Lords.   
Both Rog and Duilin looked at him with mild contempt.   
“Once a killer, always a killer,” Duilin retorted. “And why are we going on the premise any of what she said is true?”   
“Why would it be a lie?” Egalmoth countered. “Considering how she helped Glorfindel and Ecthelion, what would be her motive?”   
Duilin raised his eyebrows eloquently, looking at the dark stain on the floor.  
Turgon turned to Ecthelion, who sat with his brows in straight lines of thoughts. “What do you have to say about this, my friend?” he asked.   
Ecthelion looked up, his manner quiet and precise, a calming influence in the room. “There is nothing in our records about the lands she names,” he answered.   
“She claims she is from another realm?” broke in Duilin. “What of that?”  
Ecthelion’s voice chilled slightly at the interruption. “I don’t know, my Lord. I don’t think any of us do. Perhaps you should be slower with your tongue and quicker with your thoughts.”   
Penlod took up the conversation smoothly before Duilin could speak. “What I wish to know is the coming of the Orcs coincide with the coming of the woman. Was it a diversion?”   
“No,” said Glorfindel. He had been looking at the stain on the floor. Now he looked up, his voice full of a quiet disappointment and a sadness that was so rare on his face. “I don’t think so. She dropped her façade to save my life when she could have escaped. Why would she do that if she was in league with the Unnamed?”   
“Perhaps she did because her mother was right,” Maeglin said. “Maybe she does have a good heart.”   
Rog shook his coppery head; Duilin laughed out loud. “Lord Maeglin, there are so many reasons she could have done it, and none of them prove she has a heart, let alone a good one.”   
Maeglin locked eyes with him, his dark gaze a probing depth. “Mercy, Lord Duilin. Laura did not do that so that we would show her mercy. She believes she is not worthy of that. She did for Glorfindel. That was I believe.”   
“I think Lord Maeglin is right,” said Lord Salgant, finally breaking the silence, and, as always, siding with the Prince. “She was born into a dark place, but you cannot choose where you enter the world.”   
Maeglin’s glance frosted over Salgant in a flash of flat contempt. “Or perhaps she wanted to begin anew,” he continued, addressing the other Lords. “The first time I spoke to her, she told me that she had read a story about a young woman who had a very dark past. People left her, because she thought she couldn’t change, even though she wanted too. I asked her what happened, and she said the story was not ended yet. I told her to have hope.”  
“And what was her answer to that, sister-son?” Turgon asked.   
"That she didn't see any hope in it, but that my words encouraged her"  
There was another long silence.  
“Glorfindel, you were the one who dealt with her the longest. Surely you will know something that we don't know yet,” said Ecthelion at last, looking at his friend.   
"I only know two things," replied the Lord of the Golden Flower. “She lied to me and she saved my life. I considered her my elf-friend and now… ” he trailed off.  
“I understand you feel hurt, but we need to know all that we can about this woman,” Turgon said gently.   
The half-Vanya remained silent for a few minutes, remembering everything that had happened, both good and bad. And he realized that many times, she had told him who she was, but he had never been able to see past the veil.   
“She made many small comments,” he said at last. “About who she was, or what she had done, but I never truly understood them. And I never would have believed she dedicated her life to death and pain. She was strange…….but she didn’t….it was not…..like that.” he finished inadequately.   
Duilin turned and addressed Turgon. “My Lord, we seemed to have missed the most important question of all. What shall we do with the woman?”   
“Death,” said Rog. “A quick merciful one, to be sure, but she does not deserve life.” Duilin nodded.   
Ecthelion looked at them, his grey eyes thoughtful but also judging. “Many that die deserve life, and many that live deserve death. Can you give that to them? If not, be not so hasty to dole out judgment.”   
“Eye for an eye, hand for a hand, life for a life,” Duilin flashed back. “She admitted to killing babes and children. How does that excuse her from the same fate?”   
“Circumstances are everything, Lord Duilin,” said Maeglin. “Who is to say she would have done the same if she had been born in a different place? Does that take away her right to life? If she has broken her ties with the monster, does that still make her a monster? If men gave her a second chance, shouldn’t we, the Firstborn, allow her that much?”   
There was a murmur of assent. Maeglin had a way with words, and although he never raised his voice, his tone, calm, assertive, and melodic, was infinitely persuasive.  
The King looked around the oval table, and read accord. “As for you, Duilin?”   
Duilin shook his head. “I cannot. The vote is cast against me, I see that. I told you when we let the woman in that you would always have my loyalty, but you do not have my heart. I still believe our softheartedness will be the bane of our city.”   
Rog shook his head and sighed. “How will we keep her? We cannot let her wander the city?”   
“No. We will double the watch on her cottage, like we did when she first came. If we are to let her live, let her live like a man and not like a rat trapped in a cage,” said Ecthelion.   
Turgon nodded. “Then let us do that. We cannot leave the city, we cannot kill her, and we cannot have her wandering around Gondolin.”   
“What about the orcs, my lord? We cannot leave without taking into account,” said Duilin moodily.   
"Certainly," Turgon replied, "That will be your task since I believe you wish to stay away from the woman. Speak to the Eagles, review our defenses, and examine the Gates. Ecthelion, bring Laura Kinney to us.”   
***

When she was escorted into the Council Chamber once again, Turgon watched the woman for a while, studying her armored face. She held his gaze in return.  
“Laura Kinney, we have deliberated long and decided a life for a life. You saved Glorfindel’s life, and we will give you yours," Turgon continued, seeming to ignore her. "But you will stay in our city, under constant watch, as punishment for your past evil and the betrayal of our trust these years.”   
“It’s not very convenient to keep me under constant surveillance,” Laura answered flatly.   
“We know you are a warrior, but think well before you attack any of your guards. And if you find a desire to flee, again, think well. We are not going to give you death, even though you are looking for it. Lord Glorfindel and my sister-son think your worthy of life. Do not let them down.”   
Laura made no sign, but inside, she was shattered into a plethora of pieces. The knowledge that Glorfindel had advocated her, even though she had betrayed him, made shame choke her. Before Glorfindel, her heart had been hard, with him it had been alive, but now it was simply broken. She wanted to fall to her knees and scream, but the tight control that had been instilled in her since babyhood was an iron rod strapped her back, making her stand upright.   
“You will be locked in your cottage. You will not be able to get on the roof or go out to the gardens. Do you understand?”   
"Perfectly, Your Majesty,” she replied.   
"Good. Thank Lord Maeglin. It was his speech that saved your life," said the King. “Lord Egalmoth, take the prisoner to her cottage.”


	36. You're like a butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter the king and his council decided spare Laura's life because she saved Lord Glorfindel's life but that didn't save her from the punishment. What were the consequences of the hard punishment of the king? And who will enter in Laura's life now that the only Elf-lord who showed goodness has left her?

Chapter 37: ‘You’re Like a Butterfly’

Three years later…

She watched the Sun track its course into the West, her head in her arms. Denuded trees surrounded her cottage, their naked shapes standing out from the snow like charcoal outlines. The sun was sinking below her line of sight, and a red light was seeping through the branches.   
Laura wanted this to be over. She hated rotting in this hollow cube of stone, consigned to slow and deathless mercy.   
Staring at the trees, now black silhouettes, she wondered, as she had wondered for months, what had happened at the council. They had wanted to kill her; she had wanted that too. They had wanted to lock her in a dungeon. She tried to encourage that idea. Yet somehow mercy was her undoing, and she sat in this pretty cottage.   
She was sitting here because Glorfindel had spoken in her favor. Gondolin's Darling had stayed Turgon's hand, for some reason, and let her live.   
And that was it. That was the end.   
~.~   
Maeglin stood on the cottage's threshold, his ash-streaked face bathed in the cold crimson of the dying sun. He was not looking forward to the encounter. At this point, the woman was like a sick dog, who sits in a dark corner, ready to bite if you put your hand in. But Alassë had insisted, both gravely and firmly, and Maeglin was used to doing whatever Alassë insisted on. She was like a lantern; so bright she showed him the good in others, and in himself. She gave him the approval no one else had ever given him, not even Aredhel. His mother had never wanted to be a mother. He had known this from babyhood, and it had made him feel cheated of something essential, something that Alassë was able to give to him.   
He knocked on the door, a quick, firm rap. There was no sound from inside, but he could sense the woman's presence, a warm, living aura that her body gave off.   
"Laura," he said, "Open the door, please. I need to speak to you."   
There were footsteps. Then the door opened a crack and Laura looked at him with blank eyes. Those eyes made him worry for her. They were frozen over like winter puddles, biologic contraptions devoid of life.   
"Can I come in?" he inquired gently, offering her a smile.   
She didn't make any sign, only opened the door and stepped aside to let him pass.   
The cottage was impeccably clean; it was the tenant that was in shambles. Her black hair was a fractious tangle, with a dull, dirty half-shine, and her face told him she had taken a giant stride away from life. Her eyes have frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual warmth. He knew she was in there but she was too far away, drowning in her uncried tears.   
Maeglin dropped his smile and said, "I see you are not inclined towards niceties at the moment, so I will cut straight to the heart. I brought you a gift."   
Laura stared at him, her face unresponsive. Maeglin held out an egg, a perfect ovoid the size of his hand, made of plain iron. It seemed to have no seams and no anomalies except a small flower-shaped piece at the peak. Laura glanced from him, to the egg, and then looked back at him with the same blank apathy. She took the egg when he held it out to her, and turned it over in her hands, looking for joints or unions. Eventually, she pressed the center of the tiny flower at the tip, and Maeglin watched the apathy drain from her face as the egg opened, unfurling to display a golden inside. Inside a beautiful butterfly spread its wings, forged from gold and set with many-colored gems. He smiled at her infinite astonishment and pointed to the window ledge, where the last rays of the dying sun still lay.   
When she set it down, turning it so the light would shine on the butterfly's bejeweled wings, an iridescent rainbow sprang into being, illuminating the room with a myriad of colors.  
After a minute Maeglin touched the woman's shoulder, and when she turned to look at him he watched her face anneal back into stone.  
"You are wondering why I brought you this," he said. "I brought you the butterfly because you are like a butterfly. What was done to you kept you trapped inside a shell, but I believe inside there is a butterfly with a thousand colors on her wings. But the only way a grub becomes a butterfly is because she is willing to give up everything she knows and try to fly. You are arrogant and insolent, Laura, and if a fraction of what you told us was true, then you have done terrible things. But you also chose to save Glorfindel over saving yourself. Your first instinct was to help him, and I believe that shows you have a good heart."   
"That's a sweet sentiment, Lord Maeglin," Laura said, her gaze locked on the butterfly again. The sun had set now, and all the light had drained from its wings. "But do you remember what else happened at the Council?"   
"Yes, I remembered that you were cruel and stone-cold. But I believe that stems from how you see yourself."   
"I am a killer. That's how society sees me and that's how I see myself," Laura said slowly. "And I don't believe killers should be forgiven."   
"Neither do I, so let me tell you a story you have probably read about. Do you know what Fëanor and his children did? They slaughtered a city of innocents. And they were raised in paradise, not trained to kill. They were killers, but you were only a result of how you were raised. Laura, if you want to be forgiven, you have to forgive yourself. Accepting yourself and your past is the only way you can begin a new life."  
He saw the woman's shoulders slump, and then a tear fell onto the butterfly's gorgeous wings. "Thank you," she murmured, in a low, choked voice, still not turning to him. "Thank you for remembering me, Lord Maeglin."   
"Look at me," he instructed, and Laura slowly obeyed him. He smiled at her again and said, "My friends call me Maeglin."   
Slow, warm gratitude spread across Laura's face, lighting up her eyes. She swallowed several times, and then muttered, "Thank you. Thank you for everything, Maeglin."   
He nodded, and when he was at the door, turned back and said, "By the by, Alassë sends you her greetings."   
Laura smiled as unexpected warmth rushed through her blood like a candle had been rekindled in her heart. Being forgotten was a kind of death, and it felt heavenly to be remembered.   
"Have a blessed night, Laura," the Elf-Lord said and left. She stood at the window, watching him until he disappeared into the night, the egg in her hands. The butterfly was beginning to glitter again as the moonlight struck it, and it was at that moment she promised herself she would forgive herself, so society would forgive her, and above all, that Glorfindel would forgive her.


	37. The Swallow and the Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was another love story between an Elf-lord and a lady-in-waiting of the Princess... let's see the end or at least near the end.

Chapter 38: The Swallow and the Dove

(Súlimë {March}, The Stirring) 

The wind was keen, but with an underlying warmth that promised a proximate spring. Duilin stood on the northerly wall, his blue eyes vague as he looked for old memories.   
He stood on that wall each night, watching the moon rise in its house of silver silence, listening to the wind. It's the sound that truly matters, Elyéta had told him, but he knew now that the sound that truly mattered to him was the sound of her voice. He had lost that. When he saw her in the palace, she passed by him without a sideways glance, an aura of icy indifference freezing his heart.   
He wondered whether she had made peace with her brother. According to Ecthelion, Linwë had given up music entirely after the incident.  
Duilin still recalled the bitter crash the lyre had made when he smashed it.   
For a long time, he had pinned all the blame on Linwë. But after a while, anger gave way to reflection and he accepted that he was guilty as well. He had lost the only woman he could ever love because of his pride, and he was not angry anymore, only miserable. As much as he tried to forget her, he could not help climbing the wall each night, remembering when his beloved artist had rescued him from the storm in his heart. 

***  
"Who's there?" he called without turning around.   
"It is I, my Lord," said a polite voice. Duilin felt the cold, hollow feeling in his heart lift, to be replaced by the first sparks of reborn anger.   
"What are you doing here, Linwë?" he snapped, turning to stare at the Elf. Linwë was a little taller than the Elf-Lord, but suddenly Duilin seemed very large and very fearsome.   
"I came up to take in the night air," Linwë replied. "I did not know anyone else was here. And since I see my presence irritates you, I will leave.”  
Duilin paused for a minute, taking in the sight before him. Linwë's voice was tired and consigned, and he seemed to have aged. His silver eyes were tarnished by a deep sadness, and something deep in Lord Duilin forced him to say, "If you wish to stay, Linwë, you are welcome."  
Linwë looked at him quickly, as if him expecting a jape, but Duilin's face was as solemn as a gravestone.   
For a long time, both Ellyn watched the Northern horizon without speaking. Duilin had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed stonily on the Encircling Mountains. Linwë stood with his hands folded behind his back, his eyes searching the skies. The sidereal clock of the stars revolved above them, counting an astral time that they could not comprehend.   
"What brought you here, Linwë?" Duilin asked at last. "Gondolin has many walls; why did you come to me?"   
"I need to speak with you," Linwë said, and Duilin shook his head. It was years too late for that.   
Linwë continued, still looking at the sky. "It is our fault Elyéta is suffering. I want to know if you will put aside our past, so we can help her."   
"We? Who is to blame for this?" Duilin demanded savagely. "One of Elyéta's hairs is more precious to me than Válinor! It was you who tricked me--you who hurt her because of your damned jealousy!"  
Linwë swallowed, struggling to brace himself as sobs gathered in his chest, trying to choke him. "I---I did not know-"   
"Well now you do," Duilin said, "And now I have lost her forever." He stopped then, not trusting his voice to continue.   
"Perhaps not. Perhaps you should speak to her. Maybe she would relent," Linwë said falteringly, with no real belief in his voice.   
"Does she speak to you?" Duilin asked.   
Linwë shook his head. They lived in the same house, but as strangers now instead of siblings.   
Duilin smiled thinly, shaking his head. "If she will not talk to you, what makes you think she will talk to me?"   
"I'm sorry," Linwë said suddenly, staring doggedly at the sky.   
"No," Duilin answered, putting a hand on Linwë's shoulder. "It is I who has to apologize. What I did that day......there was nothing noble about it. I hope that there can be peace between us."   
He felt the younger Elf stiffen with surprise and sensed he was about to speak. Before Linwë could open his mouth, Duilin continued, taking away his hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "I fulfilled a duty I had towards Elyéta. Now please leave me alone."   
There was a short, taut silence, then Linwë bowed and went down the wall. Duilin did not move, only stood and the eyes of the stars marked the tears that trickled down his cheeks.   
~.~   
The next afternoon was mild and wet, filled with misting rain and the earthy smell of new growth. Gondolin was in the white goblin spring of snowdrops and melting snow, but the warm wind promised more.   
Duilin was walking quickly through the palace gardens, taking a shortcut towards his House's barracks. He felt enervated and hoped by the West that his second-in-command had kept everything in good order.   
It was a long time before a familiar voice permeated his fatigued mind. It was Ardyl, Elyéta's bird, a cheerful, bright-eyed creature, with soft blue-and-black checkered feathers.   
Duilin held out his hand, "Well met, little friend," he said, and Ardyl alighted willingly on his hand, still warbling.   
"Ardyl!" a voice called and Duilin's heart leaped into his throat, choking him.   
"Ardyl!" Elyéta called again, coming around the kugel fountain with a paintbrush in her hand. "Ardyl, where did you go...." She saw him, and her voice was wrestled into silence. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again without making a sound.   
A rainy, bird-twittered silence enclosed them. The sphere turned over and over in the kugel fountain, kept aloft by a thin film of water.  
Finally, Elyéta said, "My lord," with iciness that wicked all the warmth away from his heart.   
"Elyéta," he replied. "I am sorry that I disturbed you." He held out his arm, hoping that Ardyl would return his mistress, but the bird perched quietly on his finger.   
"Don't apologize," she said. "You can go where you want," The cold was radiating from her, frozen lace on his skin. "May I have my bird back, please?"  
Duilin nodded mutely and approached her. She picked up Ardyl with small hands, careful not to touch his skin, and then turned, her hair an ebony cascade down her back.   
"Elyéta," he said again, pleadingly. She stood still, not turning, but not walking away either. "Elyéta," he repeated as if her name was a spell that would make her face him. It did not. She stood statue-still, her head held high. "Please. I know it is too late to....mend what we had, but please forgive me. I'm not asking for you to give your love back. All I want is for you to forgive me."   
Elyéta turned to him, her paintbrush in her left hand, holding Ardyl in her right. "If I say I forgive you, will you let me be, Lord Duilin?"   
Duilin understood from her frozen eyes she meant every word. "I will let you alone, Elyéta. You don't have to forgive me; that's your choice. But please let me tell you one more thing."   
She made a moue of distaste but did not walk away.   
Duilin had never thought much of love, but when he did, he imagined confessing it at summer twilight, hearts blooming like flowers. But he stood in the rain and the mud on a March afternoon, and his own love was looking at him with cool toleration.   
"I love you," he said simply. "I was going to offer you my fëa that day. That is all."   
He watched the paintbrush slip from her fingers and fall on the ground. Her face seemed to crumble in itself, and her hands clutched to her chest as she dangled between realization and reaction. Then they flew to her face and she began to weep like a broken-hearted child.   
Ardyl launched himself into the grey sky as Duilin carefully gathered Elyéta in his arms, holding her gently.   
"I love you too," she whispered into his chest. "I love you so much. I always have."   
In that embrace, the world stopped on its axis. There was no wind, no rain, no time. They danced on the ballroom floor of eternity, and eternity was bright and beautiful. No words were spoken because words were not needed anymore. Love is not a langue that can be spoken out loud. It is heard in the heart, and they heard love like the sky loves the birds, with open hands and infinite freedom.  
He kissed her soft hair, and she lifted her face to him. He took her by the shoulders, hesitated an instant, and then kissed her lips, as rain danced around them.   
At last, they broke apart, looking at each other, wondering what to do next.   
"I assume now would be a good time to ask if you would accept my courtship?" Duilin said.  
Elyéta giggled, "Of course I will,"   
He smiled at her again. "I love you, my dove,"   
"Dove?"   
"Your eyes," he explained. "They are like dove feathers, like birds flying on sunlit days,"   
"I didn't know you were a poet," she laughed.   
Duilin smiled, took her face in both hands, and kissed her again.   
A shadow turned away from a nearby balcony. Ardyl perched on its hand, for once silence.   
"It seems the House of the Swallow will have a Lady soon," it said softly, "Come, my friend, let us get you a drink,”  
And having said that, it entered the palace again, carrying Ardyl in its hands, who chirped as if he agreed with what that shadow said.


	38. The constant of change

Chapter 38: The Constant of Change

The sunset was an explosion of dark reds and burned oranges alight with flickers of turquoise, purple and soft white clouds, an incredible display that glowed over and behind every building, turning them into soft pastel silhouettes.  
Maeglin was tired. His clothes were drenched with sweat, his hands raw, and his face covered with grime. He prowled the streets, vaguely content in the twilight, a time where all cats were equally black. For once, thoughts of Idril were pushed to the back of his mind, blockaded by sheer exhaustion.   
He walked for a long time until the ache in his legs reminded him where he was. The Lesser Market was almost empty, the sellers gathering up their wares and preparing to leave. Frowning a little, he fumbled in his pockets and found a few coins: two bronze, one gold. He turned to a booth piled high with fall fruits.   
"How much for an apple?" he asked. The vender, a slight Elf-woman, was looking away from him. She turned around with a pretty August smile when he spoke. He saw recognition cross her features, and her smile took on a sweet, surprised quality. "Maeglin, I did not expect to see you here,"  
"Nor I you," he said.   
Alassë shrugged a shoulder and laughed a little. "I am a vender. You might say this is my specialty."   
"And a very pleasant one it is," he agreed blandly. "How much for an apple?"   
Her blue eyes changed. Something he had said pained her, and it bothered him.   
"Only a bronze," she answered huskily.   
His fingers searched through his pouch, discarding the bronze and bringing out the gold. He laid down in front of her and smiled.   
"I said a bronze," Alassë returned, abrupt and defensive. Well, it was no wonder. She was not Egalmoth, so in love with riches, nor Salgant, desperate for even a glance from him.   
"Bronze is tawdry and pretentious. I think you are more like gold," he answered. "Bright, all the way through."   
She said, "I don't need your money, my Lord," but he knew it was only for decorum because her eyes were a clear blue, so clear it seemed like one could see through them forever, to the stars beyond.   
"I know," he said mildly.   
"What brings you down here?" she asked. Her small hands, browned with much sun, were working busily, packing the fruit away.   
He smiled at her, at the fairy-veil of hair that had fallen over her face. "I supposed I wanted company."   
She laughed, their previous encounter forgotten by her. "I'm afraid I'm dull company at the moment. I must get these put away before the night dew falls."   
"Two pairs of hands will make it go quicker," Maeglin said, and stepped into the booth beside her. Alassë's talk flowed over him like a bubbling stream. He had known Alassë for over five years, and yet he did not know she sold fruit at the Lesser Market. He had offered her money because gifts seemed the only way to strengthen friendships. But her blue eyes had made him realize how little he knew about things like that. He had given Laura the butterfly, given Salgant occasional greetings or encouragement, gave Idril constant gifts. That was the only way he knew to show his affection. It saddened him, filled him with a kind of grey melancholy. It was yet another way he was strange, different, an outsider in the white city.   
"Maeglin, I must go now."   
He nodded, brought out of himself by her voice. "Will I see you tomorrow?"   
"I hope so." A slice of moon gilded her hair but hid her face.   
"Then have a blessed night." She disappeared, and he thought about his own thoughts. It was a fine night for introspection, an even better night for good deeds. He wanted to do something kind that would make up for how he had hurt Alassë.   
He thought of Laura. He had been spending time with the woman, sometimes in silence, sometimes in discussion, and through the silence more than the speech, he had learned things she had never said. He had learned how deeply she cared about Glorfindel, for one.  
Maeglin began to walk again, suddenly forgetful of his weary body and mind. He felt excitement, a feeling he rarely got. It welled up in him, turning his veins to quicksilver, heady like strong wine.   
~.~   
Glorfindel was alone in his room, dazed with boredom, when the knock startled him. One of his House had just had a child, and he was reorganizing the watches. He shook his head, clearing it, and looked at the parchment. He had written out five names, then taken up the rest of the paper with scribblings. It looked like very good cacography.   
Then he stood up, crossed the floor, and opened the door. He had expected Ecthelion, or Idril, or perhaps his second-in-command, but he was by no means expecting the raven-haired Prince, his sharp features streaked with ash and coal dust.   
"Ah, Lord Maeglin," he said coolly. "What can I do for you?"   
Maeglin ignored his tone, stepping past Glorfindel and into the shadowy room. He seemed to be on fire with a kind of fierce energy. In the mixed light of amber lanterns and stars, it made him almost beautiful. "I will not sit," he said. "I would hate to dirty your rooms, Lord Glorfindel, but I must talk to you, and I'm afraid it cannot wait."   
Glorfindel shrugged, now curious. "You can sit if you wish."   
"No, standing suits me fine. I need to talk to you about the woman, Laura."   
Glorfindel's voice froze over, going from cool to frigid, his eyes now a dangerous blue. "Lord Maeglin, that is a personal matter."   
Maeglin acknowledged this, inclining his head respectfully. "I understand that, and I'm truly sorry for meddling like this." His voice, always rich, was now charming and contrite as well. "I am many things, but a busybody I am not and never have been."   
"Then why are you standing here?" Glorfindel said.  
"Let me at least say my case. Think of it like this, if you would. In the great graph of life, our three vectors have crossed. I have spent a lot of time with Laura, Glorfindel. I know you saw something in her, and I think maybe I see that same thing," Maeglin continued, his voice softer. "She lied to you, and there is no denying that. But I think of all things given to the living, the greatest is the power of change. And even we cannot change like Men, for we are tied so deeply into the world. But Men change, for good or ill. And I think she has changed for good,"   
"Is that so?" Glorfindel asked, his voice heavy with irony. But Maeglin sensed it was too much irony, laid on as protection, and that Glorfindel was listening to him.   
"It is," he said mildly. "Glorfindel, I am not ordering you to do anything. Your life is your own. Things change. Men change. And the minds of Elves may change as well. It is never too late for that."   
Maeglin went to the door. His eyes traveled over the vaulting room, aglow with polished wood and amber lanterns wrought of curling iron, and then to the Elf-Lord standing in the center. Like his kin, he read hearts, although not with Turgoon, who struck with serpentine precision, or Idril, who understood the essence of the man like a hummingbird drawing nectar from a floor. He read minds like a cat, padding on soft paws, understanding what there was to understand. And he understood that he had made up for hurting Alassë: that his world had once again reached equilibrium, although what he needed---though he did not know---was not balance, but change.   
~.~   
The stars were a choir above him, lighting his path.   
'She's changed for good,' Maeglin had said, but Glorfindel doubted if the woman--the firíma--even understood what good was, let alone how to become good.   
But deep, in some corner of his heart, he understood that was not true. He was bitter and angry, hurt that Laura had lied to him, and furious that he had not seen through it. It had blotted out his reason: the belief he firmly held, that there was some spark of innate goodness in every living creature.   
So he walked his path dutifully and knocked on the cottage door. He could see no lights in the window, but like Maeglin, he felt her presence.   
There were soft steps, then the door opened. Laura now, was not the Laura Maeglin had seen. She was clean, her hair combed, her clothes neat and unwrinkled.   
"Lord Glorfindel." Her voice was impassive.   
"Laura, we need to talk."   
"Alright," she said, her tone still blank, and opened the door so he could come inside.   
Glorfindel shook his head. "No. Come out to the bench, in the garden."   
Laura paused for an instant on the threshold, and Glorfindel knew he had irritated her with his command. Well, good. Then she closed the door behind her with a snap of her wrist and followed him to the bench where they had spent so many happier hours.   
She sat down, but Glorfindel stood in front of her, delineated by starlight, his arms folded over his chest. Laura sighed and settled back against the iron-wrought back.  
There was a long silence, one that stretched thinner and thinner until it's tension became tangible, and the need to break it was too great. Finally, Laura picked her eyes off the flowers, and said, "Lord Glorfindel, I would hate to be impolite, but this seems like a massive waste of time."   
"Yes, a waste," Glorfindel agreed. "Just like all the time I spent with you was."   
Laura raised her eyebrows, but the promise she had made to herself kept her from lashing out. She had promised to forgive herself, promised to change. But it was more than that. She needed Glorfindel to forgive her.  
Her silence ruptured the dam that had kept Glorfindel in check, and now his anger frothed over her in a turgid rush. She stayed silent through that too, and when he was done, Laura stood up, and said evenly, "I'm sorry for lying to you. I had good reasons, but looking back, they weren't good enough to hurt you. Hopefully, you got closure tonight, Lord Glorfindel."   
She turned and began to walk away, measuring her steps so that they were confident and deliberate. Her eyes were hot and they stung, and the desire to cry was almost strong than the desire to not cry. In the end, she felt a few traitor tears slip through her lashes. Laura pressed her thin lips together, holding her head up.   
"Laura."  
She paused but did not turn around.   
"I want to say I'm sorry. At least look at me when I say that, please."   
Slowly, she turned around, erasing her face to impassivity. But she knew Glorfindel had seen the tears glinting on her cheeks.   
"I am sorry. You saved my life, even though you lied to me. I was wrong to act the way I did."   
Laura swallowed quickly, her voice abrupt and almost defensive. "Maybe we were both in the wrong."   
"Maybe." Glorfindel almost held out his hand, and then stopped. "Laura, I have to think about......this....our friendship. But I want to end tonight well. I want to apologize for shouting, and to thank you for saving my life."   
Laura nodded briefly. "Thank you. Well, have a...blessed night, Lord Glorfindel."   
"You as well."   
He left standing there in the dark garden, but after he closed the gate, he heard the sound of tears. Laura was crying again, but this time, he almost thought they were happy tears.   
"She's changed for good," he said softly into the night and walked away.


	39. Patching and playing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura's relationship with Lord Glorfindel is still... broken, but there's another one which is starting to develop. And what about that letter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song 'Dimming of the Day' that Laura sings for Lord Glorfindel is taken by the cover made by David Gilmour.

Chapter 39: Patching and Playing 

"A letter? You want me to be King Turgon's pen pal?" Laura snorted, a cynical, uncheerful sound.  
Maeglin had been handling his butterfly, turning it this way and that into the light struck it perfectly. Now startling, kaleidoscopic colors leaped onto the walls of Laura's cottage, blessing it with beauty.   
The light reflected in his inky eyes, Maeglin turned back to Laura. He shrugged, "It is only my suggestion. Tell High-King Turgon what you have told me. Ask him for forgiveness. He has many matters on his mind, and if you want his attention you must ask for it."   
"Okay, but who's going to give it to him?" Laura asked. "No one wants to face the King's anger, and no one likes me enough to risk it."   
There was faint amusement in Maeglin's face. "In case you forgot, Laura, I happen to be Turgon's nephew." 

Flashback  
A pastel twilight surrounded the Lesser Market, cloaking the white spires with soft shades of lavender-blue and purple. Maeglin sat on the edge of Alassë's fruit booth, staring moodily off into the mauve distance. Alassë had finished her work a while ago but lingered. She had learned that when not pressed, Maeglin spoke in sporadic bursts of thought, and she liked to hear them.   
"I would hate being trapped inside a cottage, particularly on a night like this," he said finally.   
Alassë leaned against the inside of her booth. "No bird wants to be in a cage," she said. "If she could go out to the garden or the roof, that would be better."   
Maeglin laughed, a baritone chuckle that rolled unhindered across the empty marketplace. "Well, she can only blame herself for that. Although you are right," he added. "But I doubt I can get the King to reconsider."   
"Would you try?" Alassë asked hopefully.   
Maeglin slipped off the booth and turned to face her. Her hair was catching the last light, and it hung over her shoulders like a fairy veil. "I will try," he said. "I know what you're thinking, but I will not order the guards to let her out. Laura is my friend, but the King is my King. I owe him much and more."   
Alassë smiled and looked down at her hands. "And they say the Dark Elf has no honor."   
Maeglin looked at her, the words he wanted hiding from him.   
"A letter!" Alassë exclaimed, saving him from further humiliation. "Have Laura write the King a letter. She can tell him what she feels and what she plans to do without leaving her home confinement. And ... you can give it to the king! So, no one is disobeying anyone!" She laughed, clapping her hands together, turned back into a child by her own excitement.   
Maeglin smiled at her. "Can Laura write Tengwar?"   
"Oh, I taught her," Alassë said quickly.   
This time Maeglin laughed. "What else have you been doing behind my back? Well done."   
The golden-haired girl gave him an August smile. "Thank you. Oh! If you are going to visit Laura, I have an apple for her. And some freshly-harvested grapes for you." She handed him a small, woven basket, and Maeglin took it gratefully.   
End of flashback

"Maeglin ... that's crazy. I couldn't ask you to do that."   
"You haven't asked me to do anything yet."   
Laura smiled a little. "Well, I'm not going to." She paused. "But thank you."   
Maeglin nodded, reached into his basket, and tossed the apple to her. "From Alassë," he said briefly. "Have you finished it yet?"   
Laura shook her head. "No, but I'm almost done."   
“When you finish it, you must show me it.”  
“Of course I will.”  
He nodded slightly and opened the door. "Have a blessed night, Laura"  
"Likewise Maeglin."   
The door closed behind the Elf-lord quietly.

***

It was night, filled with autumn stars and a bracing wind and fallen leaves scudding down the marble streets.   
Glorfindel walked with the leaves, starlight gilding his hair. These last few years, he had walked every night, sometimes all night.   
Not for nothing was he called Gondolin's Darling. He loved the Gondolindrim, and they loved him. He would do anything to protect them, or so he had thought. Now, a liability, a threat had crept in under his nose, and he had let it grow inside these white walls. Once upon a time, he had considered it a friend, and his unadmitted dreams, maybe more.   
He wanted to kill the impulse that drew him back, pulling him as surely as a lodestone swinging north, and there were many nights when he had refused its sway, but tonight was not one of them.   
He turned around and headed to the cottage. There was noise coming from it: someone was playing a stringed instrument, although it was not any that he knew. The sound was buttery: mellow and smooth.   
"What is she doing?" he asked one of the guards, a wiry Elf with a mobile face and dark hair.   
"Playing, and singing occasionally," the Elf said.   
"Anything else?"   
"No. She normally starts after dark."   
"What is she playing?"   
"It's an instrument from her homeland. She calls it a guitar."   
Glorfindel nodded, smiling his thanks, and opened the gate. 

***

"I need you at the dimming of the day,  
Yes, I need you at the dimming of the day ”

Glorfindel knocked on the door, hearing the last chords cut suddenly off, and then Laura was opening the door.   
"Lord Glorfindel."   
"Laura Kinney," he replied, his voice cold and formal.   
"What can I help you with?"   
"One my guard told you were playing a guitar."   
A faint moue of displeasure raced across Laura's face and was gone. She sighed and stepped aside so he could come in.   
"Please close the door," she said, turning away. "I'll go get it."   
Glorfindel shut the door and stood with his hand on the knob, looking around the cottage. It was neat, there was no dust, and her few belongings were arranged in a way that was vaguely pleasing.   
Still looking around, his eye was caught by the butterfly on Laura's windowsill. The shell was spread around it like a flower, opened by invisible hinges like a clamshell. The butterfly glowed faintly in the light of the lamp, shimmering jeweled intricacies. Glorfindel had seen many works of wonder, but this one made him step away from the door to look closer. It was clearly Maeglin's work: the Dark Elf's craftsmanship was written in every fine vein of the butterfly's wing.   
"Maeglin gave it to me almost six years ago," Laura said behind him.  
"Maeglin?" Glorfindel repeated incredulously. "Do not forget he is a Prince and an Elf-Lord."   
"Yes," Laura said blandly. "But because he is my friend, he asked me to dispense with the lording business."   
Glorfindel turned around and faced the small woman. Laura was looking at the butterfly. "He told me I was like in a steel shell," she continued. "But if I could forgive myself…..so that others could forgive me, I would be able to show my true colors."   
"I see," the half-Vanya said. This explained Maeglin coming to his rooms, of course.   
"Here's the guitar," Laura said abruptly, holding out the instrument. Glorfindel took it carefully, examining the rich wood, which Maeglin had undoubtedly obtained for her. He pressed on the strings, and the sound resonated in the heavy soundboard.   
"I made it," she said, "Maeglin got me the items I needed."   
"This is what you used to play On Horseback?" Glorfindel asked, holding the guitar out to her.   
Laura took it, avoiding his eyes. "Yes," she muttered, her voice low and defensive.   
"Would you play it for me?"   
"No!" she snapped, quick as a switchblade. Then she repeated in a calmer voice, "No. Look, Lord Glorfindel, you've made it clear we're not friends anymore. You said yourself that you would have to think long and hard about our relationship. Considering the circumstances, the world is likely to end first before we become friends again, and I understand that. So please understand the reason why I'm not going to play On Horseback."   
"I will respect that," Glorfindel said, after a brief beat of silence. "But I am curious about the instrument. Could you at least play the song you were singing when I arrived?"   
"Alright," Laura said, her voice subdued, and sat down. "It's called The Dimming of the Day."   
Laura's voice was well-tuned, and the guitar's melody, smoothly melancholic, colored the air blue.  
"What does it say?" the Elf-Lord asked quietly when only the echoes were left in the cottage.   
Laura began to translate between languages, reciting the words with her eyes fixed on the far wall.   
"This old house is falling down around my ears  
I'm drowning in a river of my tears  
When all my will is gone you hold me sway  
And I need you at the dimming of the day

You pulled me like the moon pulls on the tide  
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart  
A broken promise or a broken heart  
Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away  
And I need you at the dimming of the day

Come the night you're only what I want  
Come the night you could be my confidant

I see you on the street and in company  
Why don't you come and ease your mind with me  
I'm living for the night we steal away

I need you at the dimming of the day  
Yes, I need you at the dimming of the day."   
"Did you write it?" Glorfindel asked.   
Laura shook her head. "No. A man called Richard Thompson did." She looked at Glorfindel quickly, her eyes diamond. "Why do you ask? Do you think I wanted to get your attention?"   
"No," he answered, his mild tone surprising both of them. "I did not want to approach you. I was just curious."   
Laura looked away again, her lips pressed together. Then she said, "If that is all, my Lord, I don't think there is anything left to say."   
"I don't think there is. Have a blessed night."   
"You as well," Laura said, and bolted to her feet, carrying the guitar towards her bedroom.   
Glorfindel paused, feeling that there was something left to say. "Laura?"   
The woman stopped.   
"Laura, turn around please."   
She did, carefully, holding her guitar to her.   
"I want you to know that I have forgiven you. You saved my life, and I will never forget that. I doubt that things can return to the way they were, but I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me for treating you so harshly."   
Laura looked from Glorfindel to the butterfly, still open on the windowsill, then returned her gaze to the Elf-Lord. "Thank you. Thank you, Lord Glorfindel."   
He nodded and left, walking home enveloped in thoughts. If he gave her another chance........then at the least, Laura couldn't say he hadn't tried.


	40. In the pocket of the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letter has arrived... what will be the decision of the king and his council?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This letter will be very important in the future, specially after what Princess Idril sees through her gift of clairyovance.

Chapter 40: In the Pocket of the Future 

Six months later

May sun played shadow games on Idril's hair as she darted lightly down the stairs, her lyre in her hands. The winter had been exceptionally cold and now the whole earth seemed to be unfolding towards the sun. Every window and door in King's Square was thrown open to greet the warm air and birdsong.   
So she saw her father through the open door, pacing restlessly as he did when he was troubled. She put the lyre down tenderly and went to stand in the doorway.   
"I trust I find the King well today," she smiled.   
Turgon looked up sharply, then his face softened into a wan smile. "No, the King is not well today. How is his daughter?"   
Idril crossed the room in three steps to stand by Turgon. "His daughter is worried for him," she returned. "What troubles you, Atar?"   
Over the years, Turgon had come to rely on his daughter more and more. Beyond her uncanny gift of clairvoyance, she was level-headed, kind, and prescient. So he only hesitated a moment before drawing her into the matter. "Early this morning, Maeglin gave me this," he said, giving her a sheaf of paper. The characters were written in a small, tight hand, leaning so far back it seemed a touch would knock them over.   
The Princess glanced at the opening paragraph. "This is from the firíma, then? What does she want?"   
"She asks for my forgiveness and says she is willing to put her skills at my disposal. She also asks that she be allowed to go out onto the roof of her cottage and in the garden without being accompanied by guards."   
Idril smiled. "Well, she certainly is not shy about making demands. What will you do?"   
Turgon shook his head. "Itarillë, I do not have the first idea. What do you think?"   
Idril arched her eyebrows. "First, Atar, you should tell me what Maeglin has to do with the firíma. Why did he deliver you the letter?"  
"Maeglin says that she has changed for the better. According to him, he has been visiting her for several years and is impressed with her transformation. He thinks I should grant her request, and I trust Maeglin. He is wise for his age, and has an intuitive grasp of character."   
Her father was still talking, but Idril only heard him as one hears water running far away. The heady feeling that accompanied her visions was swirling inside her stomach, and then she was seeing not the sunlit room but the training yard. She saw the woman with her hair tied back, shouting at a young ellon. He was on his knees, apparently from the blow she had dealt him.   
'Never think that a battle will be fair and honorable! You will never find honor on a battlefield! Honor in war was an idea made up by the people who stayed home. Do you understand me?'  
Laura approached the young Elf and held out her hand to him. Cautiously, he took it, the other hand still over his chest, and she pulled him up. 'Again!'  
The Princess looked around her, seeing the many recruits in the yard. Then her eyes fell on Lord Glorfindel and saw him watching the firíma in a way that made her understand many things. 

***

Turgon saw his daughter's eyes go cloudy, blue-grey like bluebells before they open, and knew she was having a vision. When she, at last, raised her head and drew a quick, startled breath, he approached her and put his hands on her shoulders.   
"Are you well, Itarillë?"   
Her face was confused, as she navigated that medium between the present and the future, rowing herself down the years and back to him. "Yes.......yes. Atar, I think you should listen to her request."   
"You truly think that?" Turgon asked, surprised.   
Idril nodded slowly. As much as it irked her to agree with her cousin, she was determined to give credit where it was due. "Maeglin says he has spent time with her. He has an excellent judge of character."   
"I know Maeglin can be wrong,"   
"Up until now, he has not been."   
The King studied his daughter's face for a long second, and then said, "What have you seen?"   
Idril looked away. "The firíma was teaching our recruits."   
Turgon's eyebrows collided. Idril had had the gift of foresight since she was a baby, a curse he had often wished he could take off her shoulders. But she had never been wrong. "I will have to think," he said, then as if she was still a little girl, "Go into the gardens and enjoy the sun."   
He left the room with the letter in his hands.

***

In the western wing of the palace was a large balcony with a glass roof, and a series of arcades that led back into the castle. The honeysuckle that grew on the balustrades sweetened the air, and the westerly wind kept it cool at all times, even during the height of summer. It was the favorite place for off-duty Lords to gather. Now most of them were there, save Salgant, who was guarding the Gates, Maeglin, who was with Laura, and Duilin, who was too restless to stay in one place for long.   
The news of the letter had spread quickly among the Lords, and now it was the main point of conversation.   
"She's brazen, I'll give her that," said Rog. "For someone who never had compassion, she expects much of it."   
"Perhaps she has changed," Galdor said, in the soft, gentle voice peculiar to him, and one could fancy they heard in that voice the susurration of a thousand leaves.   
"You think that simply because Maeglin says so!" Rog snorted, the great muscles in his arms rippling as he folded them across his chest. "The Prince may be a clever bird, but he is young."   
Galdor shrugged and looked back down at his work, apparently indifferent.   
"Well, what do you think, Ecthelion?" Penlod asked. Ecthelion was sitting by himself, the tight braids at his temples doing little to restraint the black hair that spilled over his shoulders. His bright eyes were distant, honed in on some inner thought. He roused slightly at the sound of his name and glanced at the other Lords.   
"I suppose," he said slowly. "That Galdor is right. I will not say the punishment given was enough, but it was certainly harsh. However, for a person who has lived long, doing so much evil......I think more time is required before we can be sure that it is real change."   
"I think we are forgetting the essential element, which is she is a spy," Rog retorted. "Gondolin may not have been her target, but spies can always be bought. She has no real love for this city, and she can turn against it as easily as a raindrop can fall downwards."   
"Then why she save my life?" Glorfindel said. He had been standing by Rog, listening to the conversation and watching the wide green plain below stretching to blue and distant mountains. "If her interest was a facade, why did she risk that? I think she might have been able to escape in the confusion if she had tried."   
"Glorfindel, if she lied to you once, there is nothing to stop her from lying to you again," Rog said bluntly. "Either to you, or Maeglin, or anyone in the City."   
Glorfindel came upright switch-blade quick, his voice spiky. "Rog, please believe I am already regretting what I am about to say, but I don't believe you have ever seen any good in Men, far less in her. You are so entrenched in your belief nothing will change your mind. So don't stand there and try to tell me about her lies!"   
Ecthelion watched his young friend storm out, then switched his gaze to Rog. "Rog, a chisel works better than a hammer sometimes," he said coolly, and then followed Glorfindel.   
Once Ecthelion had left, Penlod spoke thoughtfully. "I wonder what Duilin thinks?"   
"I doubt he has changed his mind much," Rog answered, without much interest.   
"Perhaps not," Egalmoth interjected. "Elyéta has changed Duilin. Given him a leveler head. He has told he is going to propose to her very soon,"   
Penlod arched his eyebrows curiously. "That is interesting news. When will the engagement celebration be?"   
Egalmoth shook his head. "That is still undecided."   
Rog, now entirely uninterested, said his farewells, and Galdor followed him out.   
"What if we play a game of chess?" Lord asked his friend once they were alone.  
"Sounds good to me," replied the Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch with a smile.

***  
Glorfindel glowered at the noon sky like it had murdered his family. Indignation burned in his chest, and Rog had fanned the half-asleep coals back into roaring life. Laura Kinney had lied to him, but he also recognized the change in her. From the moment she sang ' The Dimming of the Day' to him, he had sensed the metamorphosis inside and considered giving her another chance. Even knowing that he would probably be lied too again, something was moving him to give the woman a new opportunity. 

Flashback  
"You should have seen them, Lord Glorfindel!" Laura said, her voice glowing with nostalgia. "Wolves are such beautiful animals. And they can be excellent friends. Most people are scared of them, and for good reason. They are the most dangerous animals you will ever meet, but if you can earn their trust.......they will be your best friend!" Her eyes were sparkling with precious memories.   
Six months had passed since he had gone to see her, since he first heard her play her guitar. It was obvious that their old friendship could not be renewed through music. Conversation lagged, and the problem plagued them both. But one day the half-Vanya began to talk about his childhood in Válinor. It opened a new gateway for them, and since then, Laura would talk for long hours. Over time, their conversations had wandered from her bloody, macabre past and towards the brighter things that had happened. Glorfindel encouraged her to share the light that had happened.   
"If there is one thing I learned with my wolf friends it is that animals speak, but only to those who listen to them," Laura continued, her face now wistful. "But I had to leave them. Those goddamn bastards from the Facility would have tortured them if they had found them. From there, I went to Inuit, to fulfill my mission. To kill the scientist, and torture her. And I did that-"  
"Laura, enough," Glorfindel interrupted. "Put that behind you. Think about how you made friends, and how you put their good before your own."   
"I never saw them again," Laura said, her voice muffled.   
"But you have new friends," he insisted, then added quickly, "Lord Maeglin, for example."   
Laura looked at him, then nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right, Lord Glorfindel." 

End of flashback

***  
"Glorfindel, what is it?"   
"It's no matter," Glorfindel said briskly, turning towards Ecthelion. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that."   
"What Rog said could have been phrased better," Ecthelion agreed, in answer to the silence Glorfindel tacked on to the end of his sentence. "But Rog is the strongest in Gondolin, not the most tactful. But you must admit it is the truth."   
"Yes, I know. That is the problem, Ecthelion!!"   
"Problem?" the Noldo inquired softly, inwardly surprised at his friend's vehemence.   
"Yes, the problem. She....the woman deceived me in the most humiliating way, but I am sorry for her, and I want to show her mercy-"  
"So you've been to see her."   
Glorfindel looked at the ground, like an errant child instead of the master warrior and Lord he was. "Yes."   
"Glorfindel." The single word managed to be infinitely reproachful.   
"I know, Ecthelion. I know, I know. I know it perfectly well! But I cannot help giving her another chance!"   
"She tried to keep me away at first. Out of shame, I suppose. But then we began to talk again. Not like it was before, but I felt us bonding again. She told me about her past.........and it makes me think that under all the cynicism and unpleasantness, she might have a good heart."   
"So you agree with Maeglin? I imagine you will advocate for her tomorrow then." Ecthelion's voice was neutral, neither warm nor cold, but somehow, that made Glorfindel question his decision more than anything else.   
"Yes," Glorfindel said evenly. "And Ecthelion, don't mistake me. I understand how weighty this decision is." 

***  
"Duilin, what is it?" Elyéta asked, stopping suddenly. The Swallow turned quickly to face the lovely-haired girl, as if he thought he had been walking alone. They had been wandering through one of the glades that bordered the feet of the Echoriath. The leaves kept them cool and the wind was sweet, and ordinarily, they would spend hours like this, talking earnestly.   
He smiled self-deprecatingly. "I am sorry, Elyéta. Something has happened at the palace, and I do not know how I feel about it."   
"Tell me," Elyéta urged.   
"Do you remember the mortal woman? She called herself Hwa-Young. It seems she was an assassin in her homeland, and she dedicated herself to killing and torturing her kind."   
"What?" Elyéta exclaimed. It was one of the few times Duilin caught a glimpse of her anger: it was quick and bright like a diamond shard. "Then why did the King let her walk through the City? I know he did: I saw her!"   
"She lied to us," Duiliun said, his voice equally fierce. "She deceived us like we were children." He paused. "Then she gave herself away. There was an Orcor attack in Tumladen, she saved Glorfindel's life. Because of that, she was not executed, but put in house arrest, where she was supposed to stay....forever, I suppose."   
"Forever? But she is a mortal."   
"Yes. But she is not like other men. She told us she can live forever. She is either mad, lying, or truly different. But I have seen her wounds heal within seconds, so I tend towards the latter. Anyways, yesterday Lord Maeglin delivered a letter for her to the King. She is asking for royal forgiveness and the opportunity to serve the city with her skills."   
Elyéta laughed outright. "They won't even consider that, will they?"   
"I hope not. I plan to speak against her. But Maeglin advocate for her."   
"But why?" Elyéta inquired, surprised. "I can not imagine he is fond of her."   
"Maeglin is not fond of anyone but himself," Duilin said sharply. "And I do not know why he has arbitrarily chosen to advocate for her."   
"Duilin, you are not being fair to Lord Maeglin. I believe nearly everyone deserves at least two chances. That includes Lord Maeglin, and maybe even the woman."   
Duilin shook his head, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "If you were there at the Council, you would not be saying that. Some deserve nothing at all."   
Elyéta's face was young and serious. "Duilin, we do not have the power to grant life, so we should be so hasty to give out death."   
"I am not-" he began to protest, but she put her finger on his lips. "I was not at the Council. I have never even met the woman, so this advice is not the last word. I gave you a second chance, and see how happy we are? I cannot believe that anyone's character is wholly set in stone." She smiled at him. "Promise me you will at least think about it?"   
Duilin took her in his arms and held her tightly, marveling at how well her body fit with his. "You know I can refuse you nothing."


	41. An uncomfortable realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things will start to change (at least for one side) to what in the end will be a story of love of our main characters. Meanwhile another love story has a nice 'ending'.  
> Oh! And in this chapter will be shown some differences between the Elven love and Human love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stanza that Laura sings is from a song of Led Zeppelin named 'That's the way'. However, I chose the cover that Robert Plant and Jimmy Page made for their unledded concert 'No Quarter'

Chapter 41: An Uncomfortable Realization

Five years later…

“If a dark Sun ever rises, I will still love you  
And if all the seas go dry, I will still love you  
We’ll jump across the land and the oceans span  
For we have destiny in our hands.

And I will love you spring, and I will love you fall  
And I will love you winter, and I’ll love you through it all.

So we will stand together, and we will stand so tall  
Because we will always love: I’ll love you through it all  
So no matter what comes now, no matter what comes after  
Somewhere in the stars, you will always hear our laughter.

And I will love you spring, and I will love you fall  
And I will love you winter, and I’ll love you through it all.

I’ll love you without restraint and love without pride  
Love you without knowing why, for with you by my side  
I can climb the highest mountain, and swim the deepest sea  
For you, I can be the anything I will ever need to be.

And I will love you spring, and I will love you fall  
And I will love you winter, and I’ll love you through it all.

So even if our bodies must return back into the dust  
And our galaxies wind down, and all our stars rust  
There will always be a whisper in the cosmos  
That sounds remarkably like us.”

Warm applause followed the betrothal song that Linwë had written and dedicated to his sister and her future husband, and in that ovation, Duilin took Elyéta's small hand and slid the silver ring onto her finger.  
He had gone to much trouble with the ring, and eventually, sensing he was not up to the task, reluctantly asked Maeglin to aid with the design. The young Prince did so without enthusiasm, but the final result was breathtaking. The ring was a filigree band with tiny diamonds as side stones, and the head was an intricate silver rose with rippling petals. In her turn, Elyéta gave him her ring: a silver band that looked like a feather curling in on itself.  
Duilin linked his hands behind her waist, and looked at her long, imprinting every detail onto his mind. He captured it in eidetic clarity, and put in a chest to treasure, knowing in his heart moments like these only happen once. He locked the shadows her black hair created on her high cheekbones in his mind, seizing the white rosebud wreath and the silvery dress that matched her eyes. "Elyéta, I promise to love you, to care for you, to give my fëa wholly to you. To stand by you during fair and foul. I wish to marry you if that be your will."  
Elyéta smiled at him, her eyes brimming pools of light. "Your will is like my will. I wish to wed."  
"One year to this day, we will be wed," Duilin promised her, and leaned in for a kiss.

***

“ … And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers  
But all that lives is born to die,  
So, I said to you that nothing really matters,  
And all you do is stand and cry… ”

"Another song from your homeland, Laura?"  
Laura turned and looked down from the roof of her cottage, locking eyes with Glorfindel. It had been five long years since the woman had been granted royal permission to go onto her cottage roof and in the garden, but she had not yet received the royal pardon.  
Now, she looked at Glorfindel for a minute, surprised because she was expecting Maeglin. "Yes," she called down. "It's called 'That's The Way'."  
"Could you play it again?"  
Laura's thin lips twitched in a faint moue of disgust, but she leaped down from the low roof, cradling her guitar tenderly in her arms. She did not like to play for others but she was set on becoming a kinder, better person. Sometimes navigating towards that place was hard, but she had never given up, and she was not about too.  
When she had finished, Glorfindel said, "What did it mean?"  
Laura smiled now, a little sourly. It was good that occasionally Elves excepted the fact that they were not omnipotent.  
"That...is such a disheartening song," the Elf-Lord said after Laura had finished translating into Quenya.  
Laura shrugged one shoulder. "It was written by people who have to deal with Death on a daily basis."  
"I suppose you are right. I have only met two men: Huor and Húrin Thalion. Do you know of them?"  
"Yes. They came to Gondolin a few years before me, and unlike me, went back to their own land. The King liked them as well."  
Lord Glorfindel raised his eyebrow slightly. Perhaps this knowledge was thanks to Maeglin. At first, her familiarity with Gondolin and its history had displeased and even disturbed him, but maybe sensing this, Laura had started telling him of her world. He had finally learned who William Shakespeare had been, and what the Hamlet Tragedy was.  
"I see that you do know of them," said the half-Vanya after a few moments. "They have been the only Atani I have ever met. I suppose they could also say the same thing that song says."  
"I guess."  
"Laura, can I ask you a question?"  
"Go ahead," she muttered.  
"How does it feel to live in a world of mortals when you are immortal?"  
Laura frowned thoughtfully, looking up at the dusky sky. "I don't know," she finally said, "I never had time to think about such things. The only reason I had my life was so that I could take the lives of others. How I felt or what I thought wasn't at all important to the Facility."  
"But you weren't with the Facility all your life," Glorfindel urged. "You also spent time with the X-Men."  
"I didn't think about there either. I was their Ugly Duckling and I was in the group, but I was never really accepted. I'm sure you can guess that even if I had wanted to philosophize about such things, it wouldn't have mattered to them, Lord Glorfindel." Her voice was cold, and her face slowly freezing over.  
"I am sorry," Glorfindel said, glancing at her in perplexity. "I did not want to make the pain resurface."  
"But you did."  
Glorfindel stayed silent for a while, looking at the guitar that Laura had put in the grass in front of her.  
"Laura, forgive me," he said again. "This is the only way I know how to make conversation with you."  
"By continually bringing up unpleasant things? That's a great way, Lord Glorfindel," she answered wryly.  
"Laura...it's only that I do not know what to talk to you about."  
Laura glanced at him, her face blank and emotionless. But inside was a colossal, electrical emotion, for which she had no name.  
'Why is Lord Glorfindel coming? To make my life miserable? ” she had demanded harshly when he came the second time. "To remind me of my dishonesty? My humiliation?'  
"I came to meet you," he had replied. "Not Hwa-Young, but Laura Kinney. I think I am interested in knowing her.'  
Inside, she smiled a little. Looking at him made her anger and frustration dissolve, falling away into tiny particles she could not gather up. In looking at him, she noted he was dressed richly, in a white cloak, bordered with green, and richly embroidered with golden celandine. "Did you come from a celebration?" she asked finally, gesturing to his clothes.  
Glorfindel smiled. "Yes, I came from Lord Duilin's engagement feast."  
Laura snorted. "So he finally found someone who would put up with him?"  
"You are not quite in love with him yourself, are you?" Glorfindel replied mildly.  
"He's not quite the kindest person in the world." She sighed and looked down. "Although I can hardly be the judge of that."  
"It was a fine celebration," he continued, without making any sign he heard her last comment. "They gave each other their rings, which were quite beautiful."  
"I thought you said it was an engagement."  
"Yes, it was."  
"Then why did they give each other rings? I thought that was done at a wedding," she said.  
"Elves give their beloved two sets of rings. One silver pair, and one gold. After they give the silver set and promise to marry each other, there is a year of courting to ensure that they are a matched pair. When the time seems right to them, they will give each other their fëa. Then they will be lawfully wed."  
"Give each other their soul?" Laura asked curiously. "How do they do that? I mean, do they just take it out, stick a bow on it and hand it to each other?"  
Glorfindel laughed, and it made the woman smile slightly. She loved it when he laughed: it was like the Sun coming out of clouds.  
"No, Laura," he replied "Giving your soul is more than a gift. It means that far away, beyond the end of the world, the two souls are entwined forever. Their destinies become one. An Elf will only love once: since Elves are by nature permanent in life, so also is their unmarred love." He paused, as a question was nailed to his heart: Will I ever be so lucky as to find that love? "If the one we love dies, we must follow, for our soul is split in half."  
That's intense, Laura thought, but stayed tactfully silent, for she remembered what had happened to Glorfindel's parents. But when the Elf-Lord did not speak again, she said softly, "So......Lord Duilin is going to give his fëa to his girlfriend?"  
'"Yes, and her name is Elyéta. She is one of the Princess' ladies-in-waiting."  
"So, what happened before they got engaged?" Laura inquired.  
"There was a time of learning about each other that can take decades or centuries," Glorfindel answered. "You could call it courtship, but it is more like navigation. There is a call towards your beloved. Like a lodestone that will always turn in the same direction, you are turned towards your true north."  
Laura smiled a little. "What do they do with engagement rings after they are married?"  
"They will be taken off, but treasured."  
"And why a year between wedding and engagement?"  
"That is our custom."  
Laura was rarely surprised, but the Elven type of love shocked and confused her. The customs she was used to were diametrically opposed with theirs, because of two things: Time, the staunch enemy of Man, and the vanity which with love was considered. How many times did women toy with men's feelings? How many times did men toy with women's feelings? She knew about that firsthand, and shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the painful memory.  
"Is something wrong, Laura?"  
"No," she said, quickly hiding what was in her heart. "I'm just surprised. What do you do for the wedding?"  
"A great feast is held in celebration of the couple’s decision to marry. The mother of the bride and father of the bridegroom bless the marriage, and the couple will give back the silver rings and give gold rings to each other," Glorfindel answered.  
"What about the honeymoon?"  
"Honeymoon?"  
"After they get married, newlyweds go on a trip and spend a week or two alone," Laura explained.  
Glorfindel shook his golden head. "No, nothing of the sort here. But the two will get married in secret, through the union of love. That is when they truly become one."  
"I thought that was when they gave each other their fëar?"  
"No. That is only the beginning. The culminating moment is when they become on in hröa and fëa. The wedding is only a ceremony," Glorfindel said, looking away from her uncomfortably.  
Laura leaned against the bench. "Wow!" she said. "That's....different, for sure."  
"So how do the people of America marry?"  
The woman shrugged. "There's a ceremony and a party, like here. But the sex part is way different."  
Glorfindel frowned blankly. "How so?"  
"Well, it seems for you guys that sex is the marriage part. But it's very common in America. You could have sex without getting married, and some people provide sex for money, and then there's something called pornography, where pictures are taken of-"  
"Enough!" Glorfindel exclaimed in horror.  
Laura laughed, and Glorfindel looked curiously at her. "Are you joking?" he asked hopefully. She shook her head. "No, not joking nor jesting."  
Glorfindel shook his head, staring down at his hands. "That seems terrible."  
"Well, maybe, but it's the sad truth." And Laura knew it. She had never had sex, but the one who had sworn love for her, had tried to force her into it: 'as proof of her love' he had said.  
The Elf-Lord shook his head slowly. "It seems the Atani have no respect for the gift that Erú gave them!"  
“Where I come from, nobody believes in Erú Ilúvatar, maybe that's why," Laura answered. "But believe me, I was always against those kinds of things."  
Yes, she had been and Remmy had too. After all, when the French mutant had learned that Laura's 'boyfriend' had tried to force her, it had not been long before he killed him. Since then Laura had wanted absolutely nothing about sex.  
“What you just told me is terrible, Laura. You'll never see anything like it here..."  
Laura flicked her glance away from Glorfindel, suddenly seeing Maeglin. She had been so focused on her conversation she had not noticed him coming.  
When Maeglin saw the other Lord he paused, and then made as if to turn, but Glorfindel was already standing up from the bench. "Have a blessed night, Laura. The song was beautiful, and your land's customs much less so."  
"You asked about them,"  
Glorfindel shrugged in acquiescence and went down the flagstone path. The two Elf-Lords exchanged a glance that held all the warmth of the Helcaraxë.  
"Lord Maeglin," the half-Vanya, said inclining his head slightly.  
"Lord Glorfindel," Maeglin replied, returning the gesture coolly. 

***

"I did not know that Lord Glorfindel was visiting you today," Maeglin said, once the two of them were inside the cottage. "If I had known, I would not have come."  
"I didn't expect it either," Laura answered, sitting down in a chair. "I would have made him leave, but you were late. I thought you weren't coming."  
"A thousand apologies," Maeglin replied calmly, finding his own seat. "I was talking to Alassë."  
It had become a habit of his to walk through the Lesser Market every evening, and there linger with the golden-haired Sinda. Unfailingly, she greeted him with a smile that could melt mid-winter ice and talked like dew on spring leaves. They would spend hours together in the violet gloaming, forgetful of time and heedless of strange looks cast their way. He found companionship with her in a way he had never found in any other.  
Laura smirked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "So you are already ignoring me in favor of Alassë?" she said, her tone mild with amusement.  
Maeglin arched a slender black eyebrow at her. "I am free to spend my time as I choose."  
"Oh, why so defensive, Maeglin?" Laura asked. "I might not be the best of companions, but I know you don't like spending time with other people. Unless of course, they are Alassë."  
Maeglin shook his head patiently. "Whatever you are insinuating, I am afraid you have entirely missed the mark."  
Laura smiled again. "I don't think so. In fact, I've hit bulls-eye and I'm very pleased."  
When Maeglin looked at her with smooth blankness, Laura sat forward, amazed. "Are you blind, Maeglin? Or do you just live under a rock? Alassë loves you!"  
Maeglin regarded Laura, his face as inscrutable as a stone mask. That impassive visage was the one monarchial skill his mother had taught her only son. It was an off-hand mummery that Laura recognized as Maeglin at his most insecure. It was Maeglin acting out the role of the aloof, laconic Prince, instead of using his own innate good sense. Laura also recognized that Maeglin would soon say something about her, and raised her eyebrows expectantly.  
The blank mask faded, Maeglin smiled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his muscled arms over his own chest. "Laura, I would watch what you say concerning matters of the heart."  
She tilted her head like a curious bird. "And why's that?"  
"Because you want a matter of the heart."  
Laura laughed incredulously, but Maeglin overrode her laughter smoothly. "You can laugh, Laura. You do not have it, but you want it with Lord Glorfindel. You cannot deny it,"  
Laura's laughter died away, her eyes suddenly huge and green and fixed on Maeglin.  
"Oh come now, Laura," Maeglin mocked gently. "Are you blind? Or do you live under a rock?"  
"I'm not in love with Glorfindel. Not now nor ever," Laura snapped, her voice low and hostile.  
Maeglin smiled, content with the upper hand. "You are very defensive," he said, for good measure, and then laughed quietly. "You have a sweet laugh, Laura. You should use it more. Perhaps if Lord Glorfindel said that, you would."  
Laura could not answer. Her throat was dry and she felt if she tried to speak, all that would come out was a click. Maeglin had torn down her defenses with a few well-timed words. Denial was no longer possible.  
Seeing her expression, the young Prince smiled. He had won the game.  
"Have no fear, Laura. This secret will remain between us," he said, standing a going towards the door. "Have a blessed night."  
The young woman watched him leave without making a single movement.

***

Laura's POV

'I’m such an idiot! So I'm that easy to read? If Lord Glorfindel finds out, that would be the end. I couldn't stand him picking his eyes off the floor and looking at me with disgust, then walking away. I thought I had fallen in love once before, and look where that got me. Now ... I had to fall in love with an Elf......an Elf-Lord, for fuck's sake, and worst of all.....Glorfindel. Gondolin's Darling would never want a former assassin as his lover.  
Fortunately, Maeglin won't say a word about this sad secret, and I know I can trust his word.  
Now it will be my turn to know how to hide my love for Lord Glorfindel well, in case one day he founds out. I think I would rather die than see him, wince, turn his back, and leave forever.


	42. The problems we make for ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's remember that besides the relationship between Lord Glorfindel and Laura, the love story of Lord Duilin and Elyéta there's another one developing. What will be the end of this one?

Chapter 42: The Problems We Make For Ourselves 

Maeglin turned his work over and over in his hands: certain there was a flaw but not finding any. Still, his mind insisted that it was not perfect, and he found it hard to lay that thought aside. He wanted all of his work to be perfect, but this.....must be beyond perfect. It was a gift, a gift for the girl who had freely given him her smiles and kind words for years on years.   
Laura had mocked at the young Prince's blindness, and through some obverse turn, it had annealed the bond between him and Alassë. The love Laura had for Lord Glorfindel was surely a hopeless love, but Alassë's love for him? That might be a different matter. If he chose to return her love, he would be unfaithful to the silver-footed Wind-Dancer, but some deep instinct, long-buried, was pushing him away from the Celebrindal, so much so that he had put aside Idril's necklace to work on Alassë's gift. The necklace lay in a corner of his smithy now, entirely forgotten.  
For a long time, he had found loneliness an agreeable companion. He was reticent by nature and preferred his own thoughts to anyone else's. But Alassë was different in a way he could not quantify.   
But habit is a hard thing to break. Idril was rooted in his heart. He could no more get rid of her than he could pull out a full-grown oak tree. But he thought sometimes, when he was with Alassë, that she might have the tools to cut it down.   
"Maeglin?"   
The black-haired Prince straightened as quickly as a clockwork soldier, his heart beating at her voice.   
Alassë was standing in the doorway, in a simple green dress, made all the greener by the way it contrasted with the gold of her hair. She was holding a woven basket filled with fruit in her left hand, and her right was a posy of many-colored flowers.   
She smiled shyly at Maeglin. "I wanted to bring you a gift," she said. "The gifts of Kementári are very dear to the Sindar.....and I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your smithy again."   
Maeglin smiled and stepped towards her, gently taking the bouquet she offered him. He held them for a minute, feeling the warmth of her hands on their stems, then put them in the cooling vat where he tempered the heated metal. They bobbed on the surface like a brightly-colored boat. "Thank you," he said.   
Alassë's smile blossomed as she stepped into the forge. "What will you teach me today?" she inquired cheerfully, glancing around her with warm interest.   
Her smile brought an answering smile to Maeglin's face. "You can learn metallurgy some other time," he said. "I brought you here to give you a gift."   
Alassë's eyes were wide and soft with surprise, and she held out her cupped hands as Maeglin laid his gift, wrapped in a linen cloth, in them.   
"It is for your begetting day," he said, and stepped back, observing her face carefully.   
Alassë opened the cloth, her rosebud mouth open. It was a hummingbird, made from polychromatic crystal, its wings spread in infinite flight. It shimmered iridescent; hinting at emerald-greens and ruby-reds. As she turned it carefully so it hit the light in other places, more colors emerged, purples and blues and silvers like moonlight.   
"But how…?" was all she could manage.   
"How did I know it was your begetting day?" Maeglin finished for her. "A little bird told me. According to Laura, the ancient Aztecs believed that hummingbirds carried thoughts of one person to another."   
Suddenly Alassë's arms were around his neck. She was standing on the tips of her toes, hugging him tightly. "Maeglin, it's so beautiful," she whispered, and he felt her warm breath on his skin.   
Maeglin felt his limbs go heavy as his mind sprinted to comprehend what was happening. Only his mother had ever shown him physical affection, but this was far different from Aredhel’s brisk, almost perfunctory, embraces.   
Alassë smelled sweet, of fruit and flower. A world wholly different from his own coal-dusted one and that, nevertheless, was willing to show affection without caring in the slightest what others said or thought.  
When she realized that the Prince was not returning her embrace, Alassë stepped away quickly, looking down.   
"Forgive me," she murmured. "That was too forward."  
Maeglin felt a pang of guilt and anger at his own stupidity stab in him. He smiled at her, and when the young Sinda dared to meet his gaze, she saw that his inky eyes were bright. She had never known till then that such black eyes could hold so much light. "Stay and eat with me," he said, brushing a litter of tools off a nearby anvil. "Forgive the clutter," he added, taking her basket while she seated herself on the anvil, her ankles crossed as she smiled at him. "I rarely have guests here."   
"I think that the clutter is a sign of a creative mind," she told him. "Do you need help?"   
He smiled and shook his head, holding the basket out to her. "No. It might not be the tidiest of places, but I think it will work for now."   
Alassë took a bunch of grapes and Maeglin did the same. They ate in silence. It was not precisely uncomfortable: Alassë's aura of warmth dispelled awkwardness, but it was strange for them.   
"Have your sales been brisk?" Maeglin asked at last.   
"Oh.....yes, I suppose. This year's harvest was good. Kementári has once again smiled upon us, and I am kept busy."   
"So I thought-"  
"But I can come here whenever needed," Alassë added hastily. "I did not mean to ignore you like that. We have seen too little of each other lately."   
"I never faulted you. After all, I did not come down to see you, and we have both been working."   
"But.......I did not mean to leave you."   
"Alassë, listen to me. You have never left me," he said earnestly. Alassë looked at him, and then said quietly, "And I never will."   
They seemed to float in the silence. It wrapped around them in soft magic. Maeglin fought to unlock his voice, "Alassë.." he began.   
"Yes?"   
The charmed silence pushed him, prodded him towards words he never thought to say. Then the thought of Idril fluttered in his mind, declaring sovereignty, a demanding and terrible goddess. In a world where cruelty is the cause and love the antidote, the wounded declared himself a healer and sealed the fate of the Gondolin.   
"You are a fine friend," he said instead. "The Válar have blessed me with your kindness."   
Alassë looked at him, nearly-recognized hope curdled in her mouth, and she discovered that misery tastes almost like grapes. Her voice was colorless to her own ears. "I must go now. I have some matters to attend to." She seized up her basket and walked to the door, her hummingbird in one hand. She snatched up her flowers from the cooling vat, and water dripped from their petals like they were crying their own tears. Then she was gone, leaving Maeglin with only a faint fragrance of flowers and summer sunshine.   
The Prince had made as it to take her forearm when she first rose, but Idril, placed on her lofty pedestal, stopped him. Now he watched her go, her golden head down, surely weeping.   
Then as he stood, a glint of sunlight caught his eye, and he saw the necklace in the corner. Maeglin crossed to it in three quick steps and picked it up. The silver chain slinked through his palms and he brought over to his workbench. He would finish the necklace, he decided. Work would clear his head.


	43. An act of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura will show her love towards Lord Glorfindel... what will be the result?

Chapter 43: An Act of Love

Two years later ...

The eyes of Gondolin's King were grey, in the same way that the sun is bright. It is true, in the broadest of senses, but it does not do any justice to the subject. The eyes of Turgon were like a stab of ice, every detail breathtakingly concise. They were the lustrous color of a polished shard of metal, with swirls of onyx near the center, and tinges of blue towards the outer edge. In those solid, bright eyes, the woman was reflected twice.   
Twelve years had come and gone since Laura had arrived in Gondolin, and no sign of change had come to her: no wrinkles on her face or mark of age in her eyes. Time had stayed away from her. Had it not been for the half-buried appeal Turgon sensed in the woman, she was identical to the woman he had seen over a decade ago.   
The woman was tall and lean, apparently indifferent to Turgon's scrutiny, but the King sensed a different truth the tenseness of her muscles. She was rocked infinitesimally back on her heels. He knew that inwardly she was shaking with impatience, a desperation to be by Glorfindel's side as he lay on what very well could be his deathbed.   
Turgon was fond of Glorfindel in a way he could not quantify. The brash hotheadedness of the young Lord nettled him, but he had always carried an exasperated affection for Glorfindel. But the qualities that had led him to the throne of Gondolin kept him from rushing his decision, and his face was the ageless face of a mountain--beautiful, impassive, and formidable. 

***

Flashback

'Make way, make way! Move aside, damn you!!' Duilin shouted, shouldering his way through a company of Rog's inquisitive soldiers. A cadre from his House trailed behind him, like the debris in wake of a meteorite.   
Rog, huge and brown as an oak, stepped in the Swallow's path, his great arms folded over an even greater chest. 'No need for such rude words. What is it?'   
Duilin offered him a chilly stiletto of a smile in answer, then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The ranks behind him parted as a horse trotted up, so covered with grime and blood it was hardly white anymore. Its sides heaved up and down, its mane and tail were matted with clots of gore. His hands strapped around the stallion's neck, Glorfindel lay unconscious, a black-fletched arrow buried in his side.  
'Should I still be calm?' Duilin asked bitingly. 'Forgive me if I was not the picture of courtesy, but Glorfindel is dying.'   
Quickly Rog stepped towards Glorfindel's filthy, sweat-streaked stallion and gathered the half-Vanya in his arms as easily as if he had been a child. 'Poisoned?' he said softly.   
'Of course,' Duilin returned, and spat on the flagstones. 'Take him to Nestaë, if it is not already too late. I must go tell the King.'   
End of flashback

Now the Council, Nestaë, and Laura stood in a corner of the House of Healing, the herbed air between them tense with impatience and worry.   
"And how will you heal Lord Glorfindel?" Turgon asked, his voice deep, dulcet, and wholly impassive.   
"With my blood," Laura answered, and silence fell on the clustered group with an audible thud.   
Duilin's thin, slantwise smile was stitched back onto his handsome face. "Of course. You would gladly heal Glorfindel with your.....and what are you again? One of Nature's miscarriages? Your blood could poison him for all I know."   
Laura rounded on him, sparking to life with anger. "All you know? And what exactly do you know, Lord Duilin?!"   
Nestaë's voice was as crisp as fall leaves. She was utterly dwarfed by the Lords, and even Laura was a head toward taller than her, but the calm, complete power in her voice hushed them all like they were squabbling children. "Close your mouth, wench. And you, Lord Duilin, may do the same, unless you are now a healer." Her cool grey eyes now fastened on Turgon. "What the firíma is suggesting is a blood transfer. I can do that, but I am not sure what good it would do, or if her blood is even compatible with our own."   
"What do you mean what good it would do? I was under your care: you saw that I'm immune to poison," Laura broke in recklessly. She had heard of Glorfindel's injury through rumors, and with Maeglin's aid, had obtained an audience with the King, here in the House of Healing. Now, minutes were ticking down towards the eleventh hour, and the Council, with their bruised egos, were standing in the way of her saving her beloved's life.  
Nestaë glanced at Laura dismissively, then her gaze sharpened as something in the woman's face caught her eye. She studied Laura, certain that for a second, she had seen a pleading woman behind those solid green eyes.   
"I'm immortal. I can heal for any injury, I'm immune to every poison," Laura continued. "I do not grow old and I do not get sick, but like Elves, I do have my weaknesses. I'm offering you a trade. If my blood doesn't save Lord Glorfindel, then I will tell you those weaknesses. You won't offer to deal with me anymore. No more guards, no more feeding or housing me."   
"And why would you offer that?" Turgon asked.   
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, life for a life. Glorfindel gave me two chances when most people wouldn't even give me one. Now it's payback time," she said, and thought, It's also because I love him, but you'll never know that.   
Turgon looked at Nestaë for a brief second. The Head Healer sighed and answered his unasked question. "It is a gamble, my Lord. The firíma's blood may kill him, or it may save his life."   
Turgon shook his black head. "It is well-known that the gods frown on gamblers, but from what I see, life is the greatest gamble of all. I hope, for all our sakes, you are telling the truth, firíma."   
"I am," Laura answered firmly. "Don't worry, I always keep my word."   
Turgon's voice was icy and removed. "I did not think so when you are Hwa Yong."   
"That wasn't me."   
"Then let us go." 

***

Glorfindel's room was a miasma of scents: pungent herbs mixed with the hot, coppery smell of blood, and underneath was an unclean stench of Orc poison.   
The half-Vanya lay unconscious. His face was pale, almost gray, and covered with a film of sweat. Long hair lay around him, like a tangled spill of light, and Laura thought it looked too golden, idiot-bright, mocking the ashy face its surrounded. She had choked on her breath when she saw him, and her pulse lunged in alarm, hearing the ragged, arrhythmic gasps as he tortuously tore breath from air.   
A young Healer was slowly wiping the blood from Glorfindel's face. She looked at Nestaë with innocent hope.   
"He's dying," Laura said, going towards the bed. Nestaë immediately materialized in front of her, small and anything but frail.   
"Sit down," she said coldly, pointing towards the chair by the bedside. The elleth left it quickly, backing away towards a corner of the room, her cloth dripping water on the tile.   
"Let me see the wound," Laura demanded. Still blocking the woman, Nestaë reached out and gently peeled back the bandage. A putrid stench filled the room. The wound oozed thickly with dark, congealing blood. Pus was leaking from it as well, a sickly whitish fluid. The skin was purple with infection, and veins of black snaked away, heading towards the heart with lazy, malignant determination.   
"If you are satisfied, sit down," Nestaë said. "Neumë," she added, inclining her head towards a huge cabinet.   
The young elleth took a copper tube, long, hollow, and pointed at both ends from the closet and left with it. She was almost sprinting as she left the room, her green dress rippling around her knees.   
"What about juice?" Laura demanded.   
Nestaë raised her thin eyebrows. "What for?"   
"So I don't pass out due to blood loss," Laura retorted, pulling her black hair into a tight tail. "Can you get me juice? And put sugar in it, or honey, or whatever."   
As soon as Neumë came back with the hollow needle, now in a bucket of boiling water laced with mint, Nestaë sent her away for a pitcher of juice.   
Nestaë now began to work with cool, methodical precision. Using a clean square of linen, she picked out the needle by its middle and held it so it would cool. She tested it with an experimental finger, then knelt by Laura and stretched out the woman's arm. Then she slid the pointed end into Laura's arm, puncturing the skin and pushing the needle in the median cubital vein. Nestaë held the needle for a minute until a drop of blood bulged from the other end of the needle. Then she slid the needle into the corresponding place on Glorfindel's arm.   
"Now stand up so the blood will flow," she said to Laura, keeping the needle steady with one hand. Laura stood up obediently and took the needle with her own hand. "Can I be alone with him for just a minute?" she asked. Her voice was modulated, courteous.   
Nestaë looked at the woman for a long, measuring second. "The Lords will go," she said. "I will be outside the door. But it is only a minute, mind you."   
"I will mind," Laura answered softly.   
When the door closed behind her, she looked at Glorfindel, and her eyes were tender. They were a paler, softer shade, less like a gemstone, and more like the infant leaves budding from a branch. Taking care to keep the needle steady, she used her other hand to stroke the hair away from Glorfindel's sweat-soaked face. Her face grew paler, the skin now porcelain-like in its glossy, white quality, but she did not blink or sway. Instead, she said something to Glorfindel, her voice soft and sweet, in a language she had never spoken to him before, and she did not notice that the window in the door, nor the faces outside it. 

***

Then Nestaë was in the room with a pitcher in her hand, removing the needle and helping Laura to the chair. She handed Laura the celadon-green pitcher, but Laura only clasped it in her hands, her eyes welded to Glorfindel's pale face.   
The Elf-Lord's breathing was a ragged patchwork of gasps. Then he choked, twitched like a marionette with its strings jerked, and lay still. Nestaë approached the bed, laying two fingers to his throat. Then she bent her head, her mouth the shape of sadness and tired defeat. "He is with Mandos now."   
Duilin stepped forward, switchblade quick, his hand outstretched towards Laura's shoulder. Then the broken lurch of Glorfindel's chest began again and his body twisted and jerked in contorted, heart-wrenching spasms. Nestaë leaped backward, stumbling against Duilin, who righted her instinctively, his eyes on Glorfindel's writhing body. The fit ceased suddenly and the half-Vanya lay on the bed, now completely still.   
A smile crept over Laura's face, a grim, satisfied smile. She leaned forward, hands clamped tightly around the earth ware pitcher.   
The Elf-Lord stiffened suddenly, his body going as rigid as a wooden board. His head turned to one side and he ejected black bile, while black sweat formed a thick membrane on his forehead. After a few minutes, the vomiting ceased, and Glorfindel lay at rest on the bed, his breathing deep and steady.   
Laura stood up shakily, drained the pitcher, and set it down by the chair. Then she walked out of the room, unhindered, her footsteps almost an outrage in the silence. 

***

Lord Glorfindel’s POV

'Oh, gods. I feel as if some giant used me as a throwing ball.......oh gods......Tumladen.......Echoriath....the Orcor.....and my company? What of them?   
Duilin. I remember his face: lined and aged with worry. Worry for me? Yes, I think so.  
I remember the pain. Firebrand pain spreading through my veins. And am I dead? Perhaps, if Lord Mandos keeps crickets in his halls. But somehow I doubt it.   
***  
The healer, a tall, slender ellon with tightly-braided black hair, turned from his work on hearing the rustle of bedclothes. Lord Glorfindel was sitting up carefully, studying the room with disoriented eyes. He glanced at the window, and then his gaze fastened on the ellon, who smiled at him. "How do you fare, my Lord?"   
"Well," Glorfindel answered, almost absently. "Well. But what happened to me?"   
"You should speak to Nestaë."   
"Will you fetch her for me?"   
"Of course."   
Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed, watching the window. It was night outside, and fireflies stitched the darkness with light and the wind carried in fragile fragrances of herbs. Nestaë arrived shortly, matter-of-fact with her belted habit and coiled hair. "How do you feel, Glorfindel?"   
"I ache, and my throat feels like the Last Desert," he said and smiled ruefully at her.   
"Of course," Nestaë said. "Do you know why you are here?"   
"Ambush," Glorfindel answered vaguely. "Arrow in my side. But I have no scar. How long have I been here?"   
"Three days," Nestaë answered, handing the Lord a mug filled with a greenish brew. He drank it in one gulp and grimaced like a child.   
"Three days? But I have no scar?"   
Nestaë regarded him for a careful moment. "Do you remember what happened, my Lord?"   
"Duilin put me on Valorocco---is he well? That is all."   
"Three and a half days ago, you and your scouts were ambushed in the foothills. You were shot in the side, and like all Orcor weapons, the arrow was poisoned. For three days you walked in the land between death and life, and you were growing steadily nearer to the Doors of Mandos. The firíma gave you her blood. That saved you. All your wounds were knitted, and the poison was forced from your system."   
The half-Vanya regarded Nestaë with wide-eyed surprise. "She did that? And where is she?"   
"She is in her cottage," Nestaë said and thought of what she had seen through the window. Did Glorfindel know what had happened? She thought it unlikely but decided to remain silent on the matter. It was not her business. It was unlucky to meddle in the affairs of others, especially affairs of the heart.   
Glorfindel tried to rise, but Nestaë pushed him down with a firm hand. "You need to rest. At least for tonight. And if you try to naysay me, my Lord, you will find out the Orcor are far less ferocious than I."   
Glorfindel sighed and laid back on the bed. "Very well, O Lioness of Gondolin."   
A small smile crept over Nestaë's face.   
"Could you bring me food and water?" Glorfindel said.   
Nestaë nodded and headed for the door.   
"And Nestaë..."   
She turned.   
"Her name is not firíma. It is Laura Kinney."


	44. Beneath the surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura's saved Lord Glorfindel's life but we haven't known his reaction per se. Not to mention that strange things still are happening between both of them.

Chapter 44: Beneath the Surface

"We cannot let what she has done go unnoticed," Galdor said, in his peculiar, gentle voice. "Twice now she has put her life on the line for our Glorfindel."   
"So you believe that she should have freedom," Turgon asked, his voice blandly observing.   
"I believe that would be a fair decision," Galdor said. His voice did not falter, but he glanced around the oval table, searching faces for support.   
"Lord Galdor," Rog said, leaning forward. "Above all others, you should know that a tree's leaves may change color, but the roots of the tree stay forever."   
"I appreciate the parable," Galdor returned mildly. "But I would like to remind the Council that Edain--or Eldar---for that matter, share many qualities with trees."   
Rog shrugged one massive shoulder. "A parable is only a parable. But one life saved, even twice, cannot expunge the blood on her hands."   
"She committed those atrocities under orders, not by free will."   
"So she says,"   
"Perhaps the more salient point lies in what Rog's first statement," Egalmoth intervened. "She saved Glorfindel's life twice."   
"Are you implying that if another one of our own had been in danger, she would not have saved his life? We all know that Glorfindel has always been one of her most loyal advocates, she may simply have been protecting herself," Duilin said.   
Egalmoth paused, struggling to keep himself neutral, and Maeglin, after contemplating the Lord for a wryly amused second, ventured his own opinion. "Or perhaps she sympathizes with him."   
"So, she would have come to your aid as well, Prince Maeglin, since you have also advocated for her," Duilin said, turning on the young Prince with frigid formality.   
"No, because I would not have found myself in that situation," Maeglin said, smiling a little as all eyes finally turned to him. He folded his hands on the table---bare of any rings, rough-knuckled with constant work. "I confess, my lords, that I might not be the best educated in this matter, but I see it like this. Lord Glorfindel is hot-blooded: a true follower of Tulkas the Strong. He is confident and bold, and if I say he is sometimes reckless, please do not think that I am speaking ill of the Lord. Because of those character traits, which have led to his high standing at so young an age, he finds himself in circumstances unique to him. As is common with youth, he can more easily mold to change, and so he has. I believe that the only connection between the Orcor attacking him and his advocation for the woman is just that, his character." Then he turned and nodded towards Salgant. "My Lord Salgant has not voiced his opinion on the matter."   
Salgant nodded as he began the focus, and said in a pleasant voice. "What the Prince has said is not without reason. I believe that Lord Duilin was suggesting that perhaps the woman had to do with the Orcor attacks? Please correct if I am wrong, my Lord."   
Duilin shrugged, and Salgant continued. "I myself doubt that the woman is related to these forays. Not only is there no way she could communicate with those on the outside, but the Orcor marauding parties have been taking place for longer than twelve years, and of course, we cannot mistake correlation for causation."   
Turgon's voice was quiet. "Thank, Lord Salgant. But my Lords, I did not summon you here so we could bicker and prattle for hours. I summoned you here so we could make a decision: yea or nay. In light of recent events, do we give Laura Kinney the freedom to roam Gondolin?"   
"No," said Duilin, fast as fire. There was a soft murmur of voices, almost indistinguishable, and Maeglin's dulcet voice rose to the surface from the sea of speech. "What does Lord Glorfindel say?"   
"He would advocate for her, were he here," Ecthelion replied confidently.   
"Of course he would," Duilin interjected.   
"Do you find a problem with that, my Lord?" Maeglin asked. He had already gauged his measure of support, and found Salgant, Ecthelion and Galdor among them, and thought that Penlod might join his side as well. To appease Rog and Duilin, and possibly gain the support of Egalmoth, he offered a compromise. "I believe that every creature needs an ally. But I understand that it will take time for the Gondolindrim to adjust to the idea of a woman walking their streets, and we must consider the many treasures, and most of all, the many lives we hold within these walls. I suggest that for now, she may only wander the city at night, and be accompanied by one of the best of our Houses. Time will tell us if she is trustworthy or not."   
Turgon nodded slowly, his eyes leaving his nephew. "Shall we cast our vote."   
There was a slow chorus of ayes, leaving Rog and Duilin alone and outvoted. Seeing he was outnumbered, the Swallow sighed. "I shall submit to the will of the Council," he said unwillingly. "But I ask that I can choose two from my own House to accompany the woman."   
Turgon smiled a little. "If you will rest easier at night, then it shall be done, Lord Duilin. Lord Galdor, bring Laura Kinney ”

***

"Laura Kinney, once more we of the Council have held a long deliberation on your behalf." Turgon's voice was calm and assertive, the ageless dignity of the forest itself, the majesty of mountains, beautiful and formidable. "You have done us a kindness in saving the life of Lord Glorfindel, and we will offer you a kindness in return. A certain measure of freedom will be given to you."   
Laura's breath caught as if on a thorn.   
"Some freedom," the King repeated. "But you will not come to the palace save on special invitation. You may only walk at night in the beginning, so that the Gondolindrim may become accustomed to your presence. And you will always be accompanied by two of Lord Duilin's finest."  
Duilin's face was hard as granite and not at all friendly. "Everything will be noticed."   
Laura's green gaze froze over for a minute as she met his eyes, then she turned back to the King. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said. "You have no idea how much this means to me." She bowed her head slightly, in the way she had seen other Elves do. 

***

The sun was warm on her back and neck, and she sat cross-legged in the grass, the claws of her right hand out as she carved a block of wood.   
"I'm not going to hurt anyone," Laura said suddenly without looking up, "it's just that my claws are very useful right now, Lord Glorfindel."  
Glorfindel nodded to her as she sat down. "How did you know it was me?"   
"Smell," she said briskly, her head still bent, hair shadowing her face.   
"Smell?" Glorfindel repeated, with a tinge of incredulity.   
"Yes. Each of the Lord smells different. That's how I know."   
Glorfindel paused, a little startled. "Well. I hope I smell good," he said, not knowing how to reply.   
Laura stopped her work and looked at him, her cool green eyes suddenly illuminated as a smile unlocked her face. She began to laugh at his rejoinder until her pale cheeks grew flushed.   
"It's been a long time since I really laughed," she said at last. "I think the last time was with Togo and my pack."   
"Then laugh, Laura. Laughing is good," Glorfindel said, and an unwelcome thought added, Besides, you have a pretty laugh.   
The smile was erased from her face as she looked at him, almost as if she had sensed his thought.   
"What are you crafting?" he asked quickly, attempting to navigate away from this place.   
Laura sheathed her claws and tossed him it. It was a piece of rich cherry wood, the front carved like a wolf, the back still uncarved. The face was well done and the front legs had been carefully delineated. The wood was warm in his palm from her touch.   
"It is well done," Glorfindel said, in a tone of sincere admiration. "Is this Togo?"   
Laura nodded. "Yes. He was the alpha male in my pack." She took back the figurine and there was an uncomfortable silence between them.   
"How are you doing, my Lord?" Laura asked at last, in her trademark disinterested way, hoping to mask how keenly interested she was.   
Glorfindel regarded her briefly, in his own way sensing a modicum of the eagerness that ran beneath the veneer of apathy. "I am well," He said. "As it happens, I still have time to choose my gravestone, for a certain individual was kind enough to heal me."   
"That's good," she said, struggling to restrain her gladness. Inwardly, she had been fearing that her blood might have some belated ill effect on him.   
Glorfindel leaned forward, blue eyes sharp and curious. "Why did you do it, Laura?"   
Laura shrugged. "I've never let a debt go unpaid. You put me in your debt, and then I paid it back. Now we're even."   
"Thank you, Laura," Glorfindel said, offering her his hand as he had done almost twelve years ago. "Are we friends?"   
Laura felt that all her defenses were suddenly paper. She wanted to cry, but she knew that if she did, that paper would be melted away by her tears, and her heart would be laid bare. So she took his hand carefully, and said "Friends," not able to stop the smile.   
Glorfindel smiled back at her, and guided by an impulse deeper than instinct, stroked the back of Laura's hand with his thumb, pressing it gently.   
A streak of electricity bolted through his arm, warm and exciting, opening his nerves to a new awareness. He jerked back, their eyes reflecting each other's feelings: abrupt and wary defensiveness.   
"You felt it too," Glorfindel demanded, still holding on to her hand.   
The woman raised her eyebrow, her eyes suddenly and flatly expressionless. "Feel?" she repeated blankly.   
"Yes, you did," Glorfindel said, keeping his voice pitched low. "Do not try to play the fool with me, Laura Kinney. I know you well enough that you cannot pull that off. You already felt it, and you told me that it was related to a kind of medicine from your homeland. And then you became angry at me because you thought I was hurting you." And you told her it was only because she was an elf-friend, so perhaps both of you were lying, the small voice inside declared.   
Glorfindel saw their still clasped hands again, and remained silent, not wanting to say something that would jeopardize their budding friendship. "So, are we friends again?" he asked.   
Laura smiled, her eyes becoming animated once more. "Friends," she said, and shook his hand, and Glorfindel said nothing. Instead, he stood up, brushing grass from his clothes, and smiled at her. "Have a blessed day, Laura. Once again, I must thank you for saving my life. You overpaid your debt, and I must find a way to even the score."   
"I hope so because blood isn't exactly cheap," she returned. "Have a blessed day, Lord Glorfindel."   
"No, Laura Kinney. Now we are friends, and you may dispense with the lording."   
"Fine by me, but if we are friends, we can dispense with the last names too."   
"Alright, Laura," he replied, still smiling. "Have a blessed day." 

***

Glorfindel's POV

I know something happened there. I swear it on my life. But it is confusing......and above all, ridiculous. Neither love nor friendship are matters to be winked at. But if this is love, I do not want it. I do not want to be interlocked with a mortal's soul, even one who can live forever.   
And if it is what I think---fear---that how is it she did not feel it? I know she is a master at hiding her thoughts, but she noticed it the other times. I must think on this when my mind is clearer.

***

Laura's POV

'What. The Fuck. What the actual fuck was that? It knocked me speechless, and---wow, it sounds cheesy even to think this--but it touched my soul. No joke. Glorfindel says it is because I am his elf-friend, his Eldandil. And I can do that. Being his friend is so close, yet so far. But I must accept it because it is better than being away from him. So if I can become his Elf-Friend.....so be it. I won't complain.


	45. Glass hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now let's take a look of the relationship of the Elf-lords with their Princess AND let's not forget Lord Maeglin's relationship with his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention to the fact that Lord Maeglin hurt his hand... that simple detail will have importance in the next chapter...

Chapter 45: Glass Hearts

Turgon's POV

'Elenwë, if you can hear me from where you are now, let me tell you this. Itarillë has come to yet another begetting day. She is a daughter to be proud of, dearest. Gondolin loves her, and I love her, and I know that you love her too.   
When I see our daughter, my heart grows infinitely wide. I try to hold the love of two, Elenwë, believe me. Believe me now as you always believed in me. I cannot fill your place, I have no illusions on the matter. I only hope my daughter knows this. That I will be her shelter, her guardian, her forever home......always with an open door, the key always in her hand, and a love that will always be hers. 

***

The night was silver with music, setting the stars dancing in the sky. Lines of lanterns stretched from pillar to pillar, and the music beat, a cheerful shimmering of gong and tambourine.  
In the middle stood Idril, wearing a crown of roses and a silver torc, made of many twisted strands. She stood by Ecthelion, who had created the festival for her. "Oh, Velindo! How can I ever thank you enough? Everything is so wonderful."   
"It is certainly wonderful to have a begetting day, little Lindil," Ecthelion replied. "Come, let us open your gifts." He held out his forearm to her, and giggling like a girl, she took it. He sensed some of the stress and anxiety put on her by the last few years melting away at this moment and was happy.   
The first gift given was a hinged wooden box. Idril opened it to reveal a thick book filled with brilliant illustrations, the edges of the page gilded. She looked at Elyéta, knowing that in all of Gondolin, only one hand could paint those intricate, but precise designs, those colors that both coordinated and caught the eye, elevating something prosaic to the realm of daydreams. The book dealt with the natural beauties in the glades and fields around Gondolin, and under each painting, written in looping, back-slanted script, was the location where the thing had been found. Inside the pages was a long falcon feather, used as a bookmark.   
Idril embraced Elyéta warmly, then did the same to Duilin. "Elyéta, I believe it is you who paints the sky at sunset and the forests in the fall. You have such a gift. And Duilin, I cannot thank you enough either. Now I will always know where to go."   
Elyéta smiled, shyly returning the embrace. "I am glad it is to your liking, my lady."   
Duilin took his wife back and kissed her forehead, grinning. Any praise his adored got warmed his heart. "Gladly, lady Silverfoot."   
The next gift was smaller, hidden in a rectangular box with gold and green trim. Inside was a gauzy scarf, its colors were the colors of the aurora borealis, made of silk so fine and delicate that it seemed to have been woven by fairy hands. Idril wrapped it around her neck and laughed. "Thank you, Glorfindel! It is beautiful."   
Glorfindel smiled. "It is my honor."   
The next gift came from Lord Rog. Loud, courageous and almost colossal in size, in front of the Princess he was as calm and tame as a dove. He gave her a small replica of Gondolin in marble, with a hidden clasp that opened the marble city into a jewelry box. If Lord Maeglin was known for his ability in metallurgy, Lord Rog was known for his ability to carve stone, and that little marble wonder demonstrated it all. Idril embraced the Lord, and Rog returned it carefully. "Thank you, Rog. I shall put my most cherished jewelry there."   
Lord Galdor's gift was a basket full of flowers, colors to weave dreams.   
"These flowers will not wilt, my lady, if they are left in a window where the Sun's light will reach them, and their fragrance will not die away."   
Lord Penlod gave her a book of poetry that he had compiled from various poets among the Elven kinds, even some that he had authored, while Lord Egalmoth gave her a jeweled comb and finely woven blanket for her horse. The Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch was an excellent handler and knew all the secrets it took to tame a horse.   
Lord Salgant for his part, gave her a set of gold and green ribbons to adorn her hair. They were winsomely pretty, and it was widely admitted it had to be admitted that the Lord of the Harp had good taste in choosing female clothes.  
It was time for the last gifts: Lord Ecthelion and the king himself.  
The gift from the Princess' dearest friend was a harp, so beautifully carved and so sweet and potent the music it made was like an external heartbeat.   
Finally, King Turgon slowly approached his daughter. In his hands was his silk-wrapped gift. The Celebrindal plucked the cloth off then paused, her eyes not on the gift but her father. It was a golden tiara, the circlet made of diamonds set in a network of fine filigree, while the top ornament was shaped like a lotus flower, set with rubies.   
The King's voice was low and clear. "This was your mother's, Itarillë. I have watched you grow from babyhood to become the woman you are now, a woman I am overjoyed to call my daughter, and I know that your mother feels the same way. So this belongs to you now."   
Idril swallowed, tilting her head back as if the tears in her eyes would drain away. "Then crown me, Atar." She bent her head, and Turgon placed the tiara carefully on her golden hair. When she stood upright again, she was proud and erect, grave and beautiful, a Queen in exile but a Queen nonetheless. 

***

Lord Maeglin's POV

'The palace is silent: the festival has been over for a few hours, and all the better, say I! There is no need for me to converse with the self-important, or tallowcatches such as Salgant.   
I ache for her loveliness. But she overpowers me, and I belong to her. She is a creature blessed doubly with life and spirit as if the One gave her the soul and strength and beauty of two combined into one creature.   
Her light is brilliant: it scalds my eyes. I fall in her shadow, nay, beneath her shadow, for her silver heel is brighter than the fairest part of me. She is lit from within, she cannot contain the light, it breaks from her with her every glance.   
She is golden and alive, and I am beneath her light. I sense that, I accept that. I do not want to love her. But she overpowers me, and I belong to her. That is the greatest truth I have.

***

"Have you seen the waves playing?   
Always playing: forming, breaking.  
Have you heard the seagulls crying?   
High and wild, they are flying,  
As the wind itself. 

Have you heard the sea wind calling   
Tide is crashing, wind is falling.  
Have you heard the waves speaking?   
For it is you that they are seeking.   
The Sea is never silent."

Idril was fascinated by the harp, which had been made so perfectly for her, it was like an extension of her voice. Ecthelion had been forced to leave on business, so Idril contented herself by sitting in a shadowy alcove of the lily garden, wrapped in the fragile fragrances and playing songs the Fountain-Lord had taught when she was a baby.   
When the Princess heard her cousin's voice, she did not turn at once. She gathered her restraint around her like a suit of armor, but she did not attempt to smile.   
"What is it, Maeglin?" she asked. He was standing in the archway, his face in shadow.   
"A gift," he said, and she stood up, but did not move towards him.   
"Maeglin, if you had wanted to give me a gift, you should have done so at the festival. I do not want to be alone with you."   
"Idril, it has been years since we were last alone. I am years older, and years wiser. I do not wish to frighten you, nor hurt you in any way."   
Idril's face was a pale, rigid blank. "Your heart stays the same, Maeglin. Your heart always stays the same. Maeglin, I know you are my kin, but the best gift you could ever give me is to let me be."   
Maeglin moved forward with the grace of a dancer until he stood a handbreadth from her, the necklace glittering in his palm. "Idril," he said, and now his voice was now longer dulcetly persuading, but raw and mangled nearly beyond recognition. "I love you."   
"If you love me, then let me be."   
Maeglin grasped her forearm, gently, but she sensed the immense strength vibrating just inside his wiry frame. Suddenly, the Prince saw her eyes go river-froth pale, the far-seeing eyes with their strange sight that frightened him.   
She jerked her arm away almost as quickly as he let go, and they both fell backward. Maeglin regained his balance with uncanny, cat-like ease, Idril was caught by Ecthelion, who had emerged from the shadows and was looking at Maeglin, his eyes diamond-hard.   
Suddenly Idril snatched the necklace from his open hand, and flung it hard, shattering it against a marble bench, and they all heard the gemstone crack. "Curse you," she said, and then her voice grew higher. "Curse you!" she cried at him, and then turned and fled.   
Ecthelion did not look at Maeglin as he gathered up the harp, but when he was half-way up the stairs that Idril had taken, he said in a stentorian voice, "Let her be." 

***

Maeglin circled the stone bench slowly, studying the shattered remnants of his work with a grey and quilted hopeless. In the fractured gemstone, he saw his own face, and it was the face of a broken mirror, and he hated it.   
He picked up the necklace, and the shards cut his palm, letting blood trickle down his hand in a thin red line. He made no sound, only walked out of the garden, disappearing into the night where all cats are equally black.


	46. A long night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura's relationship with Lord Glorfindel is getting closer not to mention that Alassë tells her the sad moment between her and Lord Maeglin.

Chapter 46: A Long Night

"Need help?"  
Alassë looked over a heavy crate full of fruit, then dropped the case with a cry of delight.   
Laura grunted, catching the crate just before it landed on her feet. She set it carefully on the ground, and almost before she had straightened, the elleth had wrapped her in a warm embrace.  
The mutant smiled and hugged her back. Laura was rarely affectionate, but the golden-haired Elf woman had a sort of magic about her that made even the toughest-shelled open up.   
"Alassë! It's good to see you again!"  
Alassë laughed, releasing the woman. "Oh Laura, it has been such a long time! Five years?"   
"Seven."   
"And the King has finally released you?"   
"Not quite," Laura said, inclining her head towards the two guards, who stood a few paces away.   
Alassë glanced at them. "But why?"   
"Let's say my reputation precedes me" replied Laura with a shrug.   
"Reputation?"  
"Didn't Lord Maeglin tell you?"   
"Tell me what now?"   
"Who I am?" Laura said slowly. "He must have told you because you know my real name."   
"Yes, he told me," Alassë answered, her gaze swiveling from Laura's face to the crate of fruit. "But it is of no importance to me. I sense good in you, Laura, I truly do."   
Laura's smile was one of happiness growing; she felt almost dizzy with relief. "Thank you," she said huskily. "I guess I'm very lucky to have friends like you, and Maeglin, and Glorfindel," she added quickly.   
"I am honored," Alassë said, but her smile hardly reached her eyes.   
Laura raised a thin black eyebrow but said nothing. Something was preying on her friend's mind, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.  
"Come over to my house!" Alassë said suddenly, enthusiasm flooding back over her pretty features. “We will eat together and talk! We must have so much to share!"   
The young woman smiled.  
"I would love too," she said. 

***

Alassë's home was small, made of clean lines, fundamental shapes, and natural colors. Flagstone steps led up to the door, huge ferns made green arches above their heads. A little way off from the house, surrounded by hostas, was a large, leafy tree, with a wooden swing dangled from one of its boughs.   
Alassë led Laura up to the porch, but when she tried to take the woman inside, the older of Duilin's guards intervened, gently but firmly putting himself in their way.   
"She cannot enter into any inhabited place. That was Lord Duilin's express order," he said.   
Alassë offered him a spiky smile. "She is my friend, sir, and you are doing both of us an immense discourtesy by not letting me take my guest into my own house."   
"I cannot disobey my orders," he said mildly, not moving.  
Alassë tilted her head back, fixing for a fight, but Laura took her arm and moved her gently towards the swing. "Let's sit there," she said. "It's as good a place as any."   
"If we must," Alassë said loudly, still looking at the guard.   
The air was cool and dappled with moonlight under the tree. Laura sat cross-legged, Alassë curled up on the other side.   
“What have you been doing all this time? It must have been very trying for you," the Elf said sympathetically, rocking back and forth.   
Laura balanced herself, shrugging. "At the beginning it was hard. I love just wandering around, and instead, I was in a cottage, sure that the walls were going to cave in on me. Not even being able to breathe fresh air was scary."   
"So what did you do avoid losing your wits?"   
Laura snorted. "For a while, nothing. I gave up for a long time." She looked at the leaves, trying to choose her next words, but none came.   
"You gave in because you did not think you were worth fighting for," Alassë concluded softly, and Laura nodded.   
"Fortunately, I had someone who cared," she said after a minute. "A certain young Elf-woman still thought about me, and I believe she continues to do so. If you meet her, convey my heartfelt thanks."   
Alassë smiled, reaching across the swing and taking Laura's hand. "Of course. You are my friend," She said simply.   
"I learned friendship from you," Laura answered, honestly enough. "And Maeglin as well. Did you know he gave me a gift? Thanks to his word and that gift, I was able to not only forgive others but forgive myself. It had to start with facing myself and then forgiving myself, and that would snowball into a real change. It would take time, but then and again, Time is not a problem for me. Who knew being immortal was going to be so useful? There were times when I wanted death, but here I am......immortal and with more than enough time to become a new person with a new life."   
"And I'm very glad for you," the Sinda said, smiling, but that smile was overlaid with a grey mist of melancholy.   
"Alassë, what is it?" Laura asked softly, leaning forward and holding her friend's hands.   
"What is it?" Alassë repeated. "I am so glad you are changing. You are not the woman you were, not at all. If you had been, you would have never opened up to me as you did just now."   
"No, now it's your turn to hide your feelings," Laura said. "Alassë, you can tell me." Seeing the Elf-woman's reluctance, she continued. "I know I'm not the ideal person to give advice, but one thing I have learned from Maeglin is that listening is its own help, and I'm more than happy to listen."   
Alassë stared at Laura, her jaw clenched tightly. "If I do not wish to share my mind, you have no right to try and pry it out of me. I invited you to my house to talk to you, not the other way around," she answered, so coldly it was hard for Laura to recognize that voice as Alassë's.   
"Alassë-" she began.   
"I will not talk about it, Laura."  
The mutant looked at her friend for a moment, riffling through the memories of that evening, and remembered how Alassë's jaw had tightened every time Maeglin's name was mentioned.   
"It's about Maeglin," Laura said finally. Alassë jumped to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect the heart inside. She said something, but it entered the world as a raw, strangled sob, and then she began to cry silently, but with a ferocity that both surprised and frightened Laura. For a long moment, the only noise was the sound as Alassë struggled to breathe against the crying.   
She sat awkwardly on the swing, unsure of what to do, but when the tears began to die down, she leaned forward and asked softly, "What happened Alassë?"  
"It is Maeglin," the golden-haired elleth said in a broken voice, approaching the swing again and standing in front of Laura. "He does not......he does not love me!" And her tears began again.   
Laura's face washed blank with confusion. Of course, Maeglin did not love Alassë. He quite literally worshiped the ground his cousin walked on. She had never said anything, fearing to break one of her closest friendships, but she knew the Prince dogged his cousin's footsteps, and for someone who knew the consequences of evil far too intimately, he had only one thing on his mind, and it was not at all noble.   
"What happened, Alassë?" she asked tenderly.   
"Maeglin invited me to his smithy, and because it was so dear to his thought......I thought.......anyhow.....he made me a gift for my begetting day. It was a hummingbird, and I brought him flowers and fruit in return, for Kementári's gifts are very dear to my people."   
Laura nodded.   
"That day......my begetting day, he invited me to dine with him, and when spoke, and then..." She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.   
"Alassë? What happened, Alassë?"  
"He was about to tell me that he loved me. I know he was!" Alassë exclaimed, looking quickly at Laura, her eyes feverish. "And then he thought of something, and he said.....he said I was a fine friend." She laughed sadly, derisively. "He said 'you're a fine friend, Alassë'. I was eating grapes then. I haven't since: they taste so bitter now," she added matter-of-factly. She looked at Laura, her eyes--glassy with grief, suddenly brightening. "Could you help me, Laura? You know him better than I do. Would you speak to him for me? Maybe even have him see me as more than a 'fine friend'?"  
"Alassë ... Alassë ... Alassë!" Laura put a hand over Alassë's mouth to shush her. "I have never been, and I never will be a matchmaker. I don't like being mixed up in matters of the heart." I already have one of those in my own heart, and it's hard enough to deal with. "You are asking someone who looks out for herself first to do something totally against my nature."   
“You have never driven me away!" the Sinda reproached.   
“It's true, but that's because you have never shown any interest other than friendship. I need friends, Alassë, to learn how to be a friendly person, to learn how to change. And you and Lord Maeglin are those examples for me. ” And you need something more than that, don't you? Someone who loves you?   
"Maeglin is your example of friendliness?"   
"Oddly enough, yes, ... at least for me."  
"Of course," said the elleth bitterly. "He is very fond of his friends."   
“Alassë, I can't help you. And even if I could, I won't. It is not in my power to change a person's heart. Only mine ... or at least I'm trying too, "said Laura sadly." Has he come to see you lately? "  
Alassë shook her golden head. "I think he has forgotten me," she murmured, and another tear joined the ones already on her cheeks.   
"I think he's been very busy lately," Laura answered, trying to sound reassuring. "Alassë, don't think the worst. Try to think the best---it's what you've taught me." She put a hand on the Sinda's shoulder, trying to replicate Alassë's simple, golden warmth. Then she stood up and went towards the gate.   
"Laura ..." Alassë pleaded from the swing   
“I'm sorry, Alassë," she replied sadly. "I can help you with other things, but never ask me about matters of the heart. Believe me, in that area I can't even help myself." 

***

Pain shot up his arm as he tried to grip a hammer, and with a curse, he dropped it back on the bench. The scars on his hands were healing slowly, but then and again, he reflected, at least they would heal. He felt less certain about his heart. He flexed his hands carefully, gritting his teeth as he turned back to his work.   
"Maeglin?"   
The Prince glanced up, seeing a small woman silhouetted by moonlight standing in his door.   
"Laura," he said testily, without a modicum of his usual courtly nonchalance. "What are you doing here?"  
"I haven't seen you for a long time," she replied.   
"I have been busy."   
"I assumed,"   
"Then did you assume that I need to finish my work?" he asked sharply. Laura arched her eyebrows and stepped into the forge. It was lit by Fëanorian lamps, crystals hung in a fine chain net, and they cast wavering, blue-ish shadows across the smithy. She noted a necklace thrown into a corner and saw the pendant was shattered, cracks racing across the finely-carved gemstone.   
"What is it you need, Laura?" he asked, his back to her. The grindstone whirred lazily, sparks hissing up from the metal.   
“I already told you, I came to visit you. Call it friendly concern."   
"I am well, Laura," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "I might be in an even finer mood if you were to take your friendly concern elsewhere,"   
"Sure," Laura said, standing by his side now. "So you're making a sword now? I thought you liked making jewelry better."   
"Forgive me. Next time I wish to do something, I will ask for your approval."   
She stepped away, going towards the necklace. "Of course you can change what you want, but why wouldn't you fix this necklace?" she asked, picking it up. "I am sure you could restore it."   
Maeglin turned around and was in front of her with three feral steps. He snatched it out of Laura's grasp with the strength that could bend metal and crush rock. "Do not touch it!" he snarled at her, his jaw working.   
Laura reached and took one of his hands instead, real concern in her face. "Maeglin, these are deep cuts. What happened?"   
Maeglin jerked his hand away and turned back to the grindstone, tucking the necklace in his belt. "Nothing that concerns you,"   
Laura followed him. "Maeglin, I might not very good at being a friend, but I have learned from you and Alassë that true friends care about each other."  
The Prince snorted, bending over his work.   
"It's true!" Laura exclaimed, suddenly hurt. "Whether you like it or not, it's the truth. What happened, Maeglin? " When he didn't answer her, she said “It was the Princess, wasn't it? She broke the necklace."   
His shoulders suddenly hunched as he curled in on himself. "It was her gift," he said in a muffled voice, saying it more for him than for Laura. "It took me days and nights to make it perfect. Can you understand? It must be perfect, as perfect as her. That is the only way to reach the sky between us. Like father, like son, so why wouldn't this curse come with me? I thought that the gods would be content with my lineage."   
"Your past isn't your future, Maeglin," Laura said earnestly. "You have friends!" Aren't they enough? "You have me and most of all, you have Alassë. Come on! For Alassë, you are unique. For Alassë, you are special. I already told you this: Alassë loves you for who you are."  
The Prince turned around, fixing the woman with his inky eyes. "You say Alassë loves me? And what precisely do you know of love? Your past is dark, maybe darker than my own. So what can you know of love?"   
A light flared up in Laura's eyes, a wave of huge, electrical anger, and then it died away. She looked down, her voice sad. “You ask me what do I know about love? I'll tell you what I know. I know what it feels like to have unreciprocated love. That the love I have is hopeless." She paused, struggling to maintain her composure. "You want to know my curse? I got to fall in love with an Elf-Lord, and worst of all, Gondolin's Darling. Light has no communion with darkness. It doesn't and it never will." She paused, straightening the lines of her face, and said in a firm, rebuking voice. "Don't let that happen to you, Maeglin. Idril may be hopeless but Alassë is your hope. She would make you very happy. And don't waste away your time. Time can take things away from even you guys."   
"And do you speak from prior experience?" Maeglin said curtly.   
Laura nodded. "Yes. And maybe you will too if you don't learn."   
Maeglin's jaw clenched and he turned back to the sword. "Get out of here, Laura," he said coldly. 

***

Lord Maeglin's POV

'To be loved by Idril, a creature with more colors than all the gems in the world have......it is a need. And I think that one day she will.   
I do not need the love of others. Alassë is a friend, a dear friend. And am I willing to exchange the love of Celebrindal, made of fire and life, for Alassë? Now I see: one is so busy catching the Bird of Paradise that he cannot see the goldfinch perched faithfully on his shoulder.   
I don't know whether to change my affections, but what I do know is that I must mend my bond with Alassë. Maybe.....maybe I will be lucky with love. 

***

"Where are you going, Laura Kinney?" asked the younger guard. Laura had learned his name was Firthol earlier that week, and now he sounded irritated.   
Laura turned on her heel and presented him with a thin sliver of a smile. "I'm going to see my mare."   
Firthol blew air through his teeth in an impatient whistle. "Could you visit your mare tomorrow? We have been wandering all night."   
"I thought Elves didn't get tired."   
"No, but I have other duties in the morning," Firthol retorted, his sharp features creased with irritation.   
"I will escort Laura to the stables, soldier," said a voice from the shadows of the alleyway.   
"I could not trouble you with that, my Lord," Firthol replied, but the latent eagerness in his tone made Laura think he was concerned about more than duties.   
Glorfindel smiled, apparently struck with the same thought. "It is no trouble. Avaunt with you," he said kindly.   
"Saved by the bell," Laura murmured.   
"By the bell?"   
"It's a native phrase."   
"I don't understand."   
"I can explain while we head towards the stables," Laura said.   
Glorfindel eyed her for a moment. "Always to the point, aye?"   
"Always." 

***

The stables were silent, rich with the smell of sun-soaked hay and horse. The moon had set, and no light was coming through the windows, so Glorfindel guided Laura to the paddock, careful not to touch her. Viento Nocturno was nothing but a tall shadow and the shimmer of large black eyes in the night, but Laura reached out her hand, allowing the mare to take in her unfamiliar scent. "Hey, how's it going, Viento Nocturno?" she said softly, and the mare whinnied, lifting its head over the gate and nosing Laura's hair into a bird's nest. The woman laughed, edging past Glorfindel to where a crate of apples lay. She took several and fed them to the mare. "Bet these are tastier."   
"So you always have the eyes of a cat?" Glorfindel said. "Are there any other wonders I should know of?"   
Laura shrugged. "I can hear as well as you. I can see in the dark and of course, I have an excellent sense of smell.....but you know that one already."   
The half-Vanya nodded, remembered her laughter. "You are blessed," he said.   
The mutant shrugged. "Call them benefits to being an experiment," she said, feigning disinterest, but Glorfindel sensed pain ran in a deep current underneath. 

There was a long silence.  
"Horses do not forget their friends," Glorfindel said, at last, hoping to lighten her mood.  
"Too bad others do," she murmured  
"Laura, what happened is behind us. Now we are friends? You saved my life, and that is not forgetting, that is remembering, and what is more, being thankful."   
She smiled at him gratefully. "That's good to know. By the way, how is Varolocco? He didn't get hurt in the ambush, did he."   
Glorfindel shook his head. "No severe injuries. Varolocco is a war-horse and the best of his kind. Thank you for your concern." He gestured towards the mare. "Shall we take her outside?"   
"I'm still under supervision; they won't let me take her for a ride," Laura said sourly.   
"Not, for a ride, only around the pasture to stretch her legs and so she can get reacquainted with you."   
"On one condition: that Varolocco can accompany us"  
They spent the rest of the waning night together with their horses, walking them around the huge pasture, thick with tall grass and dew.   
Laura realized that her mare was also fond of Lord Glorfindel. She doubted that horses shared their master's feelings towards others, but if Elf-horses did, it could be disastrous.   
"I see you and Viento Nocturno get along very well," she observed neutrally as they turned back towards the stables.   
"She is used to me. I took care of her during your house arrest," Glorfindel answered, tugging Valorocco's forelock gently.   
Laura's eyes widened. "You did? Why?"   
Glorfindel shrugged. "Viento Nocturno was not to blame for anything," he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, but Laura recognized a truer truth in his body language.   
"Thank you," she said huskily. 

***

The rosy sky heralded a new day when they stopped at the door of Laura's cottage. at the door.  
"Thank you for taking me to see Viento Nocturno," she said quietly "And even more, thank you for taking care of her in my absence"  
The Elf-lord smiled slightly. "You are welcome" he replied with a slight inclination of his head. "And-"  
"Wait!" Laura interrupted him. She darted into her cottage and came out carrying something in her hands, which she presented to him.   
He took it, handling it carefully. "Ah! Togo!" he said, admiring the carving. He handed it towards her, but she shook her head. "No. It's yours."   
Glorfindel looked up and saw the immense gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you," he said, impressed by the emotion in her face.   
"No, thank you for taking care of Viento Nocturno."   
The Elf-lord smiled. "Have a blessed day, Laura."   
"Likewise, Glorfindel."   
He closed the gate behind him, weighing the small figurine in his hands. He had always admired Laura's capacity for gratitude. Once she had been willing to express her feelings, he saw how much she appreciated the smallest acts of kindness.   
The wood was still warm from her hands, and he smiled. As strange as it seemed, he thought this was one of the most precious gifts he had ever received. He swiveled his head towards the cottage for a parting glance and continued towards the palace, not noticing that hidden by foliage, Laura was watching him.


	47. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's remember that Maeglin almost said to Alassë that he loved... ALMOST. Now let's see Alasse's reaction.  
> Oh! And Laura will come with an idea that will change her world little by little, not in the moment but it'll change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the cut that Maeglin made himself with the shards of the necklace that Princess Idril broke.

Chapter 47: Reconciliation 

Alassë arrived at her booth in the Lesser Market just as the sky began to lighten, heralding dawn. A green scarf, jeweled with dew, lay bundled on the booth counter. She put down her basket of goods, her pulse beating like the wings of a hummingbird, and unrolled the silk scarf carefully. It was a water lily, made from silver and blue topaz; the frosty petals centered around the ethereal blue stone. She laid it down again, struggling to dam the tears. Then she wrapped the gift up once more, stowed it away, and began to lay her wares out.  
For Alassë, the day passed quietly, clothed in grey, quilted melancholy. This flower had stolen her peace, but she bit her tongue on the subject. Laura came to see her, and they spoke for a few minutes, but neither mentioned Maeglin.  
So, when her last customer had left, Alassë sat down at her empty booth, knowing that soon, he would come.   
***  
It was her heart, not her eyes, that told her. It lunged with anticipation and alarm, and she watched come out of the purple-gloaming shadows. He was tall and lean, his body a framework of muscle and motivation. His sleek build, his swift, fluid walk, set him apart from the other Elf-Lords, making him distinctly feline in appearance. A black cat, who walks the night because all other cats are also black at this time. It was a different beauty, a beauty few could see and less could appreciate. 

***

"Alassë," he said. He wanted to smile, but those cornflower eyes would not allow it: they accused him instead.   
Alassë rose and curtsied. "Lord Maeglin."   
He frowned. "We agreed that the entire 'lording' business was no longer necessary."   
"After what happened, I thought we should return to formalities."   
Maeglin regarded the elleth with confused eyes. "Why are you so angry with me?" he said. "I only want things to be how they were. That is why I gave you the gift. My ability is not in the things of Yavanna, but those of Aüle. I hope you liked it," he added with a smile, a sweet, hopeful smile.   
Alassë's eyes suddenly stung with tears. "Of course, I did, Lord Maeglin. You have a rare and splendid gift, but no matter how beautiful, a gift does not win the person."   
Maeglin regarded her in bemusement. What more did this lovely-haired Sinda want from him? "It is a token of regret," he said. "I want your friendship back, Alassë."   
"But not my love!" she cried at him, her voice tuneless and choked like a cracked bell.   
Maeglin stared at her, his inky eyes reflecting back an ocean of moonlight.   
Alassë drew herself together, shaking her head. "My begetting day," she said, her tone so low it was almost a sigh. "You almost told me you loved me, but then you said that I was a 'fine friend'. Laura has a word for that behavior, Lord Maeglin. Friendzone." She paused, crying softly, and while her voice spoke volumes, her tears were an entire library.   
"First you make me believe one way, and then another. You think a gift can change that?"   
Maeglin stood still, his mind a sea of surging confusement. He thought of his father, silent and dour, often in his workshop, emerging only to offer gifts. He thought of his mother, her perfunctory acts of affection, the strange glances she slipped at him from the corners of her eyes. He thought of Turgon, his distant kindness, always willing to speak to Maeglin but rarely focused on him. It was his father that had offered him the only tangible proofs of affections, the one he could hold in the shadowy nights of Nan Elmoth, where strange magic things walked and talked among overgrown trees.   
But others.... others did not want gifts. Love was not cultivated by handouts, but by connections, by turning the skin to soft glass, by being vulnerable and offering others a chance to look inside.   
Maeglin ran his hands through his hair, suddenly racked with frustration. He understood these things on an intellectual level, but in a deeper, visceral, and much more real way, he did not understand it at all.   
Alassë stepped forward on seeing the deep, still-healing scars on his hands. "Maeglin, what happened?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.   
Maeglin frowned at her until the Sinda took his hands in her own, turning them over with exquisite care. "What happened, Maeglin? You never cut yourself."   
He began to pull his hands away, but Alassë's stopped him, tracing the wounds on his right hand with the softness of a feather and a tenderness only love can provide. He sucked in breath, his pulse lunging. Then he hung his head, and said in a defeated voice, spitting the words out as if to be rid of their taste. "She destroyed the necklace I made for her. She despises me."   
Alassë was saddened but also invaded with a strange, entirely alien joy. If the Princess had denied Maeglin, perhaps that meant she had had a second chance with Maeglin.   
At last, he looked up, his black eyes sad and humiliated. Alassë smiled at him, and taking courage, Maeglin took her hand and held it gently in his own. "Teach me," he pleaded. 

***

The years had passed quickly, bright-colored birds on the wings of Time. Laura now wandered the city by herself, learning all its secret passageways, the hidden alleys, the clandestine lanes. ANd more than that, she had come to appreciate and even love the city. She admired the clear fountains, the gracefully tiled boulevards, the lovely gardens, the lamplit streets, the avenues of trees, the sky-aspiring pinnacles, and fretted spires. She had been an admirer of human architecture before, but this impressed her differently. The splendor of the Kremlin, the elegance of Versailles, the exotic shape of the Taj Mahal were true works of art, but Elven architecture had something different. There was some ethereal about it, an art that led to the exaltation of the spirit, an art that led to light.   
It was a paradise, this city; it was a harmony of stone and growing things, it was a quiet, constant song wrapped in the arms of mountains.   
Slowly the Gondolindhrim became accustomed to her, although Laura understood that accustomed was probably all it would ever be. Fitting in was once against a blatant impossibility.   
But she could care more about what they thought of her. What she really cared about was Glorfindel. He came to her cottage every week, and they would talk for hours, no longer bickering, but long, rich conversations about their worlds and themselves. For Laura, it was a bittersweet thing. Looking at him reminded her how hopeless her love was, but she always loved being in his company. She told herself sternly that she was his Elf-friend--although he had never said that--and that was enough. 

***

The morning was cold, and the sun rose late, but when it did, it released a flood of diamonds, the dazzling glint of light on snow.   
Glorfindel stood on the Sixth Gate, shielding his eyes from the glint. Tumladen was a sheet of white that made its way up to the snow-clad city. It was a fairy-tale world, at once childishly whimsical and fascinating pure, almost holy.   
"No misadventures, I hope?" Penlod said, coming up the stairs behind him. He stood a head taller than Glorfindel, his black hair dusted with snow. He seemed the manifestation of winter now: calm, powerful, mostly silent, an enigma in his own right.   
Glorfindel shook his head. "None whatsoever. Enjoy your snow, my lord," he added, watching as Penlod picked up a handful of snow and tossed it in the air, powdering their heads with the white stuff.   
"A ritual my mother taught me," the older Lord explained. "To honor the first snow. The Earth sleeps now."   
"Of course," Glorfindel agreed. He enjoyed Penlod's company as much as the next, but at times the Lord seemed to live in a different world. He bid Penlod farewell and jogged down the stairs, beginning the long walk back to the city.   
***  
He had passed the Place of the Well, admiring the silver-brown trunks of the oak and poplar which clustered around the well, and was coming to the Road of Arches, a short road that led to the Square of the King, overshadowed by a series of massive cloverleaf arches. This road stood apart from the rest of Gondolin: the arches made it eccentric and strangely, almost severely beautiful. Sometimes, in the summer, red flowers would twine around the arches, but now they were bare and stern and lovely.   
He recognized the woman leaning on the parapet, standing with her arms crossed to watch the slow December dawn.   
"Good morning, Glorfindel," she said, at last, the occasional gusts of cold wind making her hair flutter.   
"Good morning," he returned. "What brings you to this spot?"   
"I wanted to see the sunrise from here," she returned, still watching the horizon, which was filled with moody pinks and bruised purples.   
"And what else?" he asked, standing by her, but careful their shoulders did not touch.   
Laura swung round to face him and said, "I'm bored, Glorfindel, bored to death. I love walking around the city but it's all I do. I get food and a place to live without earning it."   
"Because you saved my life. You did earn it."   
Laura sighed in exasperation and turned her back to the sunrise. "Glorfindel, I want to have a job. I want to contribute to this place, not leech off it. "What things make me an asset to this place? I wander around the city like a hobo, and I can't take it. I've always been useful. Not always in a good way, but I have always been useful. And now, in this beautiful city, I am less useful than a glass hammer."   
Glorfindel looked up, surprised, and interested. "This city is beautiful to you?"   
"Of course. You would have to be blind to consider it otherwise."   
"So.....who healed you? I recall that you used to despise this city."   
Laura shrugged the point away. "Maybe. The point is, I'm bored. I want to do something useful."   
"What interests you?"   
Laura looked at him steadily and Glorfindel straightened suddenly. "You wish to be a soldier?"   
"Why not? I was trained to be a fighter. Come on! I was created to be a fighter!"   
"Laura-" he began in a reasoning tone.   
"Glorfindel, you know I'm right."   
"This is not your Facility or your X-Men," he said.   
"I know. I also know it's not about killing or hurting people. It's about serving our city!"   
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.   
"What?" Laura asked.   
"What did you say?"   
"I said this is not about-"  
"No, no. You said our city."   
"Yes. I'm here to stay, so it is our city. We have to share it, whether you like it or not."   
Glorfindel smiled slightly, amused at her temper.   
"What?" Laura asked again, seeing his smile. "Did I say something funny?"   
"Do not pride yourself on being a wit," Glorfindel retorted, then added. "But I am glad you think this way about our glorious city."   
"Calm down, Elf Friend. Let's not throw terms like those around."  
Glorfindel raised his eyebrows again. "Elf-friend?"   
"As far as I know we are friends. I hope I'm not mistaken," she said, and a little voice added, And I love you with all my heart, but you will never know that.   
Lord Glorfindel looked at her for a moment, aware of something being growing inside, something yet unnamed, which made him enjoy the woman's company more every day. "Yes, Laura, you are my Elf-friend,"   
Laura's eyes widened, emerald brightened with joy and deepened with a flash of........some complicated emotion he could not quite decipher, but he sensed sadness.   
"Good to know, BFF."  
"BFF?" Glorfindel repeated.   
"Best friends forever. I mean, we're immortal, after all," Laura replied. They stood still for a few minutes, suddenly awkward and afraid.   
She is immortal! Why are you so afraid? thought one.   
He can never love me, and you can never blame him for it, insisted a voice inside the other.   
Finally, Laura cleared her throat and turned back to the East, studying the sun. "I have an idea," she said, with forced brightness. "Maybe you can ask the King to have an audience with me. I bet I can convince him...with a little help," she added, looking at him significantly.   
Glorfindel laughed. "I can obtain you an audience, perhaps, but no one sways the King." No one save the Mole he added resentfully to himself.   
Laura sighed, the newly risen sun lighting up her face, while the cold brought roses to her cheeks. "I'm good with that." 

***

"So, you wish to enter one of the Houses as a soldier?" the King asked.   
"Yes, your Majesty. I want to put my skills at your service and the service of the city," Laura replied politely.   
"I have a more difficult question," Duilin said sharply.   
Laura turned to him with a polite smile. "If your question is why you can trust me, it is that I hope you can believe in change. That, and the King lets me wander the city freely, so perhaps you should speak to the King on that matter."   
Before the Lord of the Swallow answered, Turgon said, "It is one thing to roam the city, and it is another to be entrusted with its defense, Laura Kinney."   
"At least give me a chance, your Majesty," Laura pleaded. "It is not fair to the community that I receive food and shelter while offering nothing in return."   
There was a reluctant agreement. As soon as they came of age, all Elves found their respective niches, each one taking it upon themself to raise their society up a little higher. It was not a written law; it was more of a natural one for the Eldar.   
"And why do you insist upon being a soldier? There are many trades."   
Laura's mouth twitched but she said. "I have been trained since I was a baby to fight. But I am not going to torture, nor kill, nor a spy. That was my past life, but you have taught me I can start over. So, I want to use my skill to help this city."   
The King raised his staff of Doom and silence fell. Turgon was not entirely convinced, but he recalled the words of his daughter well enough, and her pale eyes that saw too far. "If you wish to be a part of our military, you must complete our assessment, and I assure you that our criterion is not remiss. And remember, if you do qualify, you will begin in the lowest rank. I will not offer you favoritism."   
"I understand."   
"In any way," Turgon said sternly.   
Laura bowed her head, "Thank you, Your Majesty."


	48. Taming the tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again something strange will happen between Laura and Glorfindel... what is it really that?  
> And why Laura behaves in that way when she's fighting against the Elf-lord she loves?

Chapter 48: Taming the Tiger

If Laura had found the Facility training difficult, she soon discovered that Gondolin's instruction was not far behind. The Facility had wanted to produce a mindless, emotionless automaton. Gondolin wanted to create a perfect soldier, one who was not only physically fit, but intelligent, creative, and discerning, as well as kind to the poor and defenseless.  
Every day, as soon as dawn announced itself to the skies, the recruits were lined up the training field. They learned to somersault and roll while in full armor, to mount their horses from the ground, with no other hold than a grip on the mane, to climb two walls an arm's length apart and as tall as a tower without slipping on the ascent or descent, to swim or run a mile in minutes. They were schooled with various weapons, taught to fight successfully apart or in a group, versed in various war tactics, and showed the basic arts of healing to minimize fatalities on the battlefield.   
Despite the arduousness, Laura greatly enjoyed the training and the challenges it gave her. But the Elf Lords demanded strict obedience, and a part of her rebelled fiercely at their disciplinarian ways. Another thorn in her side was how many of the other recruits saw her as weak and inadequate. They made quiet comments about her when they believed she was out of hearing, especially one named Peleccion, a handsome Noldo with an unmistakable swagger.   
Laura struggled: she was used to being the oppressor, not the oppressed. She had always gotten respect, one way or another, and now it had suddenly been stripped away from her entirely. But she did her best to clench her fists and walk away. She wanted, with an intensity that surprised and even frightened to her, to be admitted into Glorfindel's House and there serve Gondolin by his side. She did not think she was asking for too much. She knew love was out of the question, but she could at least be with him and that would be enough for her.   
Most likely. 

***

The Lords were aware of the problems Laura was facing, but they also saw that she was very high in her class. Her ability to learn and fight was amazing, but they were troubled by the remnants of the cold, bloodthirsty assassin that still lay inside. Several times a Lord had been forced to intervene and pull Laura away from one of her tormenters, and she had been punished multiple times.   
But despite these aggravations, Laura continued to change. It was Glorfindel, of course, that forced the vitiated seed of the woman inside to finally grow its first leaf. 

****  
The cell she was in was a cube of stone cut into the wall of the Training Square, with a door made from slender steel bars, that let light in but nothing out.   
Laura was on the ground, doing one-armed pushups, her face rigid and strained, not with concentration but with anger.   
A shadow, delineated by moonlight, fell over her, and the door opened almost silently, but she kept her head down.   
"What are you doing?" Glorfindel asked.   
"What do you think I'm doing, Glorfindel?"   
His voice was sharp and commanding. "On your feet! When I speak to you, you will stand and answer me with respect."   
Laura got slowly to her feet, looking at him. "Okay, Glorfindel. What I'm doing are push-ups."   
"I am not Glorfindel, Laura Kinney. I am a Lord. You will use my full title when addressing me."   
Laura arched a surprised eyebrow. "What? Why the big change? Is it because I got put in time-out?"   
"Precisely, soldier," he said grimly.   
"Well, I'm not a soldier yet," Laura snapped back.   
Glorfindel's eyes flashed blue fire. "And you never will be with that behavior. Now answer, soldier! What are you doing?"   
Laura stared at him, swallowing her anger with an effort. "Push-ups."   
"What did you say?"   
"Push-ups" she repeated.  
"What did you say?"  
"I said push-ups!" she flared.   
"I know what you said: what you did not say was 'my lord.'" Glorfindel answered crisply.   
Laura snorted. "Yes, my Lord."   
"I did not hear you, soldier!"   
"Yes, my Lord," she almost shouted, then muttered under her breath, "Wow, what an honor to call you that."   
But Lord Glorfindel heard her and before Laura expected any movement, his sword was drawn and leveled at the woman's chest. Ice blue eyes like the cold of a winter morning gazed intently at her. Laura did not move, only held his gaze. He could read that the woman was ready and willing to fight......but not him. That was what he wanted to know. He lowered the sword and sheathed it in one smooth gesture.   
"Laura, what are you are doing is wrong," he said quietly. "If you continue to defy orders and hurt your fellow recruits, you will never make a soldier."   
"So, I should just shut up and let them mistreat me?" she asked testily, sitting down on the stone bench. "I mean, I'm used to being the Ugly Duckling but that doesn't mean I like it." She looked up again, her eyes sad. "You guys are better than the Facility, but well.........I feel alone," she sighed, standing up and beginning to pace. "I shouldn't but I do. The only time I don't is..."   
"Is what?"   
Laura shook her head, waving the question away. "If you want respect, you will have from me, my Lord," she said, her voice cold and flat.   
"Laura, look at me," he said.  
The young woman finally met his blue gaze, in which she found understanding and kindness.  
“Do not respect only me. Respect everyone and you will earn the respect of others. Show your qualities, not your flaws and you will earn their respect,"   
Laura snorted.  
“It does not matter if you do not believe me. You have good things to offer. Show them those things. You are more than an out-of-place Atani, but you are Laura Kinney, named after the plant of victory. I believe you will become a soldier, and a fine one too. And one day, if the King allows, I will be very proud to consider you part of the House of the Golden Flower."   
Laura's eyes flew open like startled birds, and she almost cried out with joy. Instead of running to Glorfindel and throwing her arms around him, she stood still, saying quietly, "Thank you, my Lord."   
Glorfindel smiled. "Take heart, soldier. And you should rest now. Tomorrow will not be a horseback ride in the fields."   
Laura returned the smile. "Yes, my Lord," she said, offering him a salute. "It's how soldiers show respect to their officers in my homeland," she added in explanation.   
The half-Vanya nodded. "I see. Have a blessed night, soldier."   
"You as well, my Lord." 

Years later…

It was the final day of training. The finest of the recruits, those who had passed all other tests, were gathered in the Training Square, where they would face each other in hand-to-hand combat as their final trial before becoming a soldier. Until then, Peleccion and his ax, which he wielded like an extension of his arm, had prevailed, and Lord Rog kept an approving eye on the cocky Noldo. Now, the contestants had been boiled down to him and Laura, both of whom had defeated all the other opponents.   
What Glorfindel had said to her that long-ago night had become Laura's life motto: she had thrown away the remnants of the cold assassin and devoted herself to becoming the person that Glorfindel believed she was. It had been difficult, but by showing respect, she had become respected   
***

Peleccion stepped over his last opponent, grinning broadly. The crowd around the ring exploded with applause, and his grin widened. He turned then, extending his hand to his fallen combatant. The elleth rolled to her feet, glaring at him and left the circle. It was a ring three meters in diameter, staked out with hazel staves. Once in, stepping out of borders meant forfeiture, running away meant cowardice.  
"Is there anyone else who would like to take their chances?" he called. Glorfindel and Duilin, who were standing side by side, looked at each, silently hoping someone would challenge him. Peleccion was a good fighter, but too proud for his own good by far. If no one accepted his dare, one of them would have to.   
"My turn," said a female voice. Laura came to the front of the crowd, her hair pulled back in a tight tail, her face was flushed with the previous fights.   
Peleccion laughed in disbelief. "If you want to fail, fírima."   
Laura shrugged. "Well you're the very flower of chivalry, aren't you? But it can't hurt to try. Unless you're afraid you'll lose to a fírima."   
Peleccion grinned at her. "Come and fight."   
Laura slipped in between the circle of hazel staves, her legs apart, balancing on her toes like a dancer. With a metallic grate, her claws emerged from her fists.   
"Who will win?" Egalmoth asked. The crowd had fallen silent, and his voice was easily heard.  
"Peleccion," chorused Duilin and Rog instantly.   
Egalmoth nodded, "As do I. What of you, Glorfindel?"   
"That is hardly a question," Duilin said. "He thinks his prodigy Laura Kinney will win."   
Glorfindel sighed. "Thank you for your wit, Duilin. But for once you are right: I do think she will win."   
Egalmoth's gaze turned curious. "And why is that my friend?"   
Glorfindel shrugged. "Peleccion is too cocky by half. He will overstep his bounds soon. But Laura is careful. And I believe she is an innate warrior. It will not be an easy win, but I think it will be her win."   
"That is a strange way of saying assassin," Duilin muttered. Egalmoth nudged him hard, but Glorfindel remained prudently silent. Instead, he focused his attention on his friend, certain that the victory would be hers. 

***

Rámalë, Duilin's second in command, short in stature but commanding in appearance, sounded the gong.   
The difference in height between the combatants was considerable. Laura was lean but short, while Peleccion stood nearly two heads taller than her, and was built like a smith.   
And the combat was a long one. For some time, Laura contented himself with standing upon the defensive and guarding against the tremendous blows which Peleccion rained on her. Despite the Noldo's efforts, who could not beat down the woman's guard nor force her to fall back a single step.   
Again, and again, the crowd cheered in approval to some show of athleticism or skill on either part. Peleccion grew furious; his temper gave way under the failure of his assaults. Laura, on the contrary, fought calmly and coolly; her eyes never left those of her adversary, her face neutral, although her forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat.  
Suddenly Laura shifted to the offensive, raining a perfect hailstorm of blows on Peleccion. The Noldo leaped backward, and Duilin drew in his breath in a hiss.   
"Fool! Move on him!"   
"I think not, my friend," said a voice, its low, luxurious baritone Ecthelion's trademark. "She is not as fast on you and she knows it."   
Duilin turned, "Ah, Ecthelion. Who do you think today's winner will be?"   
Ecthelion shrugged, his voice neutral. "I am hardly a fortune teller. I would rather watch then be forced to assume."  
Peleccion charged Laura like a bull. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if she were embracing him, and headbutted him. There was a crack as Peleccion's nose broke, and the two stumbled apart, blood on both their faces.   
Stunned but still dangerous, Peleccion fainted to the left with his ax, forcing Laura to move. Then the ax was between her legs, forcing her to roll or get cut. She rolled, but before she could get to her feet, Peleccion's foot was on her chest, pressing down hard. Blood dripped down his handsome face.  
"Do you have something to say, firíma?" he asked. Applause began at his words, then was devoured by silence. Laura brought her knee up between Peleccion's legs with a hard jerk and the Elf stumbled away, doubled over.   
A loud shout of approval burst from the mass of Elves. Although the winner was not one of them, they appreciated so highly the virtues of coolness and courage that their applause was no less hearty than if the Peleccion had been a victor. Peleccion straightened slowly, his friends running to him. Putting two fingers on either side of his nose, he set it again with a bone-chilling snap. Laura had kicked the ax away from him and was glaring at him.   
"Call me firíma again and you'll get more than your nose broken," she said. Glorfindel looked triumphantly to Duilin. "She won."   
"She kicked him between the legs," Duilin countered crisply. "I would hardly call that a fair win."   
"She still won," Glorfindel retorted, and headed towards the Circle.   
"Impressive, soldier," he said, and Laura smiled gratefully at him, wiping trickles of Peleccion’s blood off her face. The scratches she had sustained were already healed. "You defeated the best in your class. But let us see if you can defeat me."   
"Fight you?" she repeated, her voice startled and defensive. "I mean, fight you, my Lord?"   
"You seem a worthy opponent," Glorfindel answered. Laura was going to protest, but she deciphered two things from her friend's blue gaze: Glorfindel was trying to show the crowd that Atani was not synonymous with weakness and that he truly wanted a friendly duel: he had a showy streak.   
"As you say, my lord," she replied, smiling thinly.

***

The two stood on opposite ends of the ring, the golden-haired warrior with his sword drawn, Laura with her claws out and crossed over her chest.   
"She will lose now for certain," Egalmoth said, looking on with interest.   
"Yes. But it will be entertaining," Ecthelion returned.   
"Hardly," Duilin broke in. "Peleccion was a reckless, fame-seeking novice. Glorfindel is both skilled and clever."   
Ecthelion smiled in a serene, fatherly way that made Duilin glare at him and returned his gaze to the ring.   
***

Both combatants stood still, as tense as violin strings tuned to the ultimate octave. Glorfindel's face was alive with rushing adrenaline, but Laura's face had become dull and lifeless.   
Rámalë sounded the gong once more, now looking interested instead of merely tolerant.   
Glorfindel fought with furious speed, and although Laura had begun on the offensive, she was forced to skip backward to avoid being overwhelmed by the flurry of blows he dealt at her. It was instantly clear to her she would have to appeal to all she knew to avoid being defeated outright.   
As Glorfindel raised his arm for another blow, she kicked out, aiming for his unprotected side. He turned with tight grace, like a dancer spinning, but was unprepared for the claws that pierced through her moccasins, forcing him to step backward. There was a low gasp from the crowd.   
Glorfindel moved quickly, lunging for her head. She slid under his blade and into a crouch where she jabbed at his hard stomach with a quick, but heavy blow.   
Ecthelion smiled to himself.   
Glorfindel drew in breath fast but recovered at once. He was concerned by the flat, far-away look of her eyes; worried that she had forgotten who she was fighting.   
Laura jumped to her feet as soon as the sword finished its arc, slashing at Glorfindel with her claws. In a quick movement, Glorfindel caught her claws in his sword, twisting her arm. She spun around to her face, wrapping her other arm around his neck, and head-butted him hard, smashing her skull against his forehead.   
Glorfindel staggered backward, dazed for a minute.   
The fight continued for two more hours, and Glorfindel took many hard blows, but mostly he held the upper hand. And although Laura was an excellent fighter, Glorfindel's experience prevailed and he finally managed to corner her, throw her to the ground, with a foot on her chest and his sword at her throat.   
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and smiled hopefully. "Soldier-"  
"Do you really think you have won, my Lord?" Laura panted, her eyes hard and flat. Her tone was cold, mocking, and dead.   
"Do not do it," He said sternly.   
She brought her head up. "Do you really think so, my Lord?"  
"You would not dare, soldier," he said in a low, urgent voice.   
"What wouldn't I dare?" she asked, her eyes welded on his, and now Culumaica's blade was biting into her throat, staining its edge with blood.   
"Laura!" Glorfindel exclaimed, his voice filled with sudden anguish. "Laura, enough!"   
The woman's breath hitched as if on a thorn, and it seemed like a caul had been ripped from her face, for the flat-eyed look disappeared. She lay down quickly and shouted, "You win, my Lord!"   
Against his will, Glorfindel pulled her to her feet. He did not want to touch her, but to refuse would be to discourteous. But this time was no different, and they stared at each other, immured in their separate world, aware that something greater than either of them was suddenly at work.   
"Excellent fighting, Laura Kinney," said Ecthelion from behind them, and both turned sharply at his voice.   
"Thank you, my Lord," Laura replied in a distracted voice, still looking at Glorfindel. "With your permission, I will retire."   
She turned and walked quickly away, losing herself in the crowd. In a minute, Glorfindel had also disappeared, going in the opposite direction.


	49. But never doubt I love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel will start to realize what's exactly happening between he and Laura. Meanwhile Lord Duilin will start to feel a desire to have children with his wife, Elyéta.

Chapter 49: But Never Doubt I Love

He ran in springing, graceful steps, devouring the miles with his stride. He had always loved to run; entranced by the sound of the gossiping wind, how well his body obeyed him, the scenery that rushed by him in a hazy blur, the sweet air in his hungry lungs.   
He pushed himself to the very brink of his limits, going faster and faster. All that was left now was visceral, an undiluted instinct that left the mind far behind.   
At last, he slowed himself to a walk and then halted by a pool fed from an underground spring. It lay cradled complacently in its rocky bed, ice-cold and crystal-clear. Glorfindel laved his face gratefully in it, then drank sparingly from his cupped hands. It filled him like new life.   
He turned then, looking back to Gondolin. Tumladen was thick with constellations of flowers, and out of this hazy beauty flew Gondolin's fretted spires and glittering towers, its walls high and white above the flowery plain. Its beauty was immense and bone-touching, a loveliness that played symphonies on his heartstrings. They had raised it from the ground, built it with blood and tears and songs of a home they could not return to. They had built it with jealousy and a fire in their hearts. They had built it with a strange and chilling love.   
He had thought he had found his place in this strange, new world. He had been happy, understanding all that needed to be understood. He had lost himself in the Song of Stone and believed he had found himself.   
And then an unlovely woman had come and thrown him back into chaos. And however unlovely she was, at times he felt blessed just to be with her.   
He shifted uncomfortably, realizing that in these few minutes the thoughts had returned, creeping up on him like unpaid debts. She made him shudder, she made him laugh. At times she even frightened him: her callous approach towards life--her own and others, the flat, dead look in her eyes during the duel.   
And then what was she to him? Glorfindel concentrated, trying to pin down his thoughts, trying to pigeonhole Laura, put her neatly away where she belonged? A soldier? A citizen of Gondolin? An Elf-Friend? Yes. And-  
No. He shoved that idea aside and wished for Ecthelion. Ecthelion knew the answers; he always had.   
Glorfindel turned back towards the pool, sitting on a boulder and studying the face reflected back at him.   
He took all the wise ones in his life: his father, Ecthelion, Idril, Turgon, amalgamated them into one being and called it his reflection. He felt foolish for doing so, but it felt it also felt right, so after a moment's hesitation, he said to the Lord in the pool.   
"I do not understand. Since I was a child, I have winked at love and marriage. I understand some time in the future such an act might be politically indispensable, but for now, I am happy focusing all my energy on Gondolin. Or I was."   
He paused, casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, not wanting to be seen. "And then Laura came. She is neither lovely nor very kind, but there is something else. Maybe it is a strength or an innate warmth, but it draws me to her."   
Glorfindel drew another breath. "If some other had told me these same things, I would have said they are in love without hesitation. I know what I feel: what happens to my heart and soul whenever I touch it. But I feel like I cannot reconcile two loves. It is like charging horses pulling in opposite directions. I can no more abandon one than I could a child. Every one of them is important, every one of them part of my soul. The only option then is to find a way for them to charge in the same direction, to pull together.   
So, when Laura decided to put her skills to use bettering Gondolin...I believed that was the answer. But somehow, it ended up being a riddle. I know I love Gondolin. I know it with everything I have in me. I think I may love Laura."   
He did not find the answer in his reflection, but this introspection seemed to untangle some part of him, making into something both controllable and useable. 

***  
The King summoned a council when dawn was still a promise on the horizon. Inside the huge marble room, the air was chilly.   
"Have you made your decision concerning our newest recruits, my lords?" Turgon asked, from the massive oak cathedra at the head of the table, crested with his House's device, the pearl moon, the gold sun, and the scarlet heart. His gaze was curious and complicated: something was clearly compelling him to deal with this matter.   
"I have made my decision," said Lord Egalmoth.   
Turgon glanced towards his nephew, who nodded. Of late, Maeglin had seemed better disposed towards the world, less withdrawn. Despite his checkered past, many Elves were interested in learning from the master smith, for Maeglin made marvels.   
The recruits were divided up between the Houses, according to their inclinations. Some had asked for a specific House, and most of these requests were granted.   
Finally, only one remained. "And what of Laura Kinney?" Turgon asked finally.   
"She will not join my House," Duilin said instantly.   
Turgon looked at him, responding in a tone that could not be deciphered. "Has she not passed all her tests, my Lord Swallow?"   
"Perhaps so," Duilin returned bluntly. "But this is my home, and I will not harbor a vulnerability so close to my heart."   
"Neither will I force you too," said the King gently. "So, the woman has not asked to join any House?" His sharp eyes found Glorfindel's before his gaze widened to take in the rest of the Lord.   
"I would like to Laura Kinney to be a soldier of the Golden Flower," Glorfindel said suddenly. "She is an innate warrior," he continued. "She has spirit and strength and is a staunch fighter. I would like to think that I know her more than anyone here, and as such, I would like to enter into my House."   
"Lord Glorfindel, I am sure your observations are correct," Galdor said peacefully, holding a bland face. "But I for one never wished her to be part of our city's defense. What Duilin said rings true to me: I will not willingly place a vulnerability in a position of power."   
Duilin turned to fix Glorfindel with a glittery gaze and a knowing smile as thin as a new moon. "My Lord, would you like to expound on why you favor our dear intruder so?"   
"You believe I favor her?" Glorfindel said, returning the smile like an unwanted gift. He liked Duilin: the two lords were nearly the same age, but at times like this, Duilin's sharp words and even sharper gaze irritated him. "I displayed no favoritism towards her."   
Ecthelion broke in smoothly. "My Lord," he said, directing his words towards Turgon. "Laura Kinney is an excellent strategist and a good warrior, but I would not place her one of the Houses. If we do not trust her, how can we expect others too? And a division during times of crisis would be catastrophic indeed."   
"Then let us cast a vote," Turgon said and listened as one by one, his lords brought their argument to the table, until only his silent sister-son was left.   
"Lord Glorfindel, considering the numbers against you, Laura Kinney cannot enter your House," the High-King said at last.   
Glorfindel's face was a portrait in indignation. "My Lord," he protested. "How can this be? Why did we let her go through the rigors of training---why did we squander our time training her--if our end goal was this?"   
"I fail to see what else she would have done with her time," the King said coolly. "A house divided cannot stand, and in this case, twelve houses will not stand if they are divided. Should you be able to convince the other Lords, I will not stand in your way, but until then, Laura Kinney will remain what she was."   
He turned to his nephew, pinning all his hopes of a peaceful resolution on him. Sometimes Turgon found it hard to believe how diplomatic Maeglin was. He looked like his mother--the thin face, the high cheekbones, and large eyes--but his winning tones, his effortless persuasion in nearly all matters, must have belonged to his father. Turgon often found himself wishing Maeglin was far less tactful. "What do you propose, my Lord Mole?"   
Maeglin held a palm of peace. "I propose that we dwell on the matter for a few days at least. What Lord Galdor says is indeed true, and it is a weighty matter. We must put aside our personal opinions and make a decision that is best for all of our Houses," he said, and although his tone was neutral and his gaze directed towards Turgon, Glorfindel felt the words were pointed towards him.   
Turgon looked at his sister-son with wry love, although he felt Maeglin's words were only putting off the inevitable and said, "Very well. We shall follow your advice." 

***

Later in the day, after the Council had adjourned, Galdor left the palace alone, carrying a carved horse-and-knight prettily wrapped in embroidered cloth. He walked by himself for some time, until a familiar voice called his name. He turned in surprise and saw Duilin jogging to catch up to him, carrying a parcel over his own, clothed in hand painted silk.  
"Duilin! What brings you down here?" Galdor asked his soft voice as near to surprise as it ever got.   
"I came to see Firthol," Duilin explained, slowing his pace once he was abreast with the other. He held out the bundle. "This is a rattle for his child."   
Galdor smiled. "And I am going to see Laegnis, the proud new mother. Your gift is wrapped very beautifully," he added.   
Duilin grinned. "Of course, it is. Elyéta decorated it." He paused, biting his lip then, remembering that Galdor's wife had chosen to stay in the West.   
Galdor smiled wistfully. "You are smiled on, my friend," he said. Duilin put a hand on the Lord's shoulder, trying to encourage him. "Come now," he urged gently. "We are about to go into a house where all is happiness. We should leave our problems on the threshold."   
Galdor sighed. "So, this is where you choose to speak your wisdom," he said wryly.   
***  
He watched constellations of fireflies as they stitched the darkness with their light. The wind, his old friend, was light and warm, and it probed at him, asking him what lay tucked away in the future.   
He wished he knew. And he wished that it would be in the shape of a tiny hand that held his fingers.   
He had been allowed to hold the newborn infant and had felt at once shocked and rooted to something far deeper than anything else: the endless cycle of life. The baby had felt so light, looked so perfect in his hands. It had made him realize how much he wanted a child.   
Two arms hugged him for behind in a sweet embrace. "Does something trouble my husband?"   
Duilin took her hands in his and squeezed. "Not when my wife is here."  
"Your wife knows that you are lying," she returned. "Why did you not come home?"  
Duilin turned in Elyéta's embrace until he could see her eyes. She was smiling expectantly up at him.   
"Have you ever thought of children, Elyéta?" he asked earnestly.   
She paused, thoughtful. "I suppose not."   
"Would you like to have one.... soon?"  
Her eyes widened; she let go of him and began to pace restlessly around the walls. "What made you think of children?" she asked at last.   
"I went to see Firthol's baby. I only expected to congratulate my soldier but then I held the child.......and..... Elyéta, what I felt.........it was..." he said in a broken voice that amazed his wife. "I cannot describe it. But it felt so right in my heart. I never knew that something was missing: after all, I have my House and my City. And I have you, melmë. But to have a child?"  
Elyéta listened to her husband with downcast eyes. "Do you know what my amil said of children, Duilin? She said that having a child was having your heart taken out of you. Once you are a parent, your heart beat in your son or your daughter. And..... and...."   
Duilin realized what his wife was saying, and he took her shoulders gently. "But it would not be only your heart. It would be both of our hearts. And we would be such fine parents! Not perfect, for no one is perfect, but our child would be loved so much." He paused, smiling at her as she finally met his eyes. "Think about it! A girl! A girl with your beautiful eyes and your talent!"   
She smiled back at him, timidly. "Or a son with your swiftness and keen eyes. Or maybe a son with my love for art and a girl with your love for weapons."   
He nodded eagerly. "Why not both?"   
"Both!" Elyéta cried, astonished.   
"It is only a thought. We would only have one, to begin with. I wish for a girl, who is as kind and lovely as her mother."   
Elyéta's smile blossomed, her eyes bright and silver. Duilin gazed back at her with fond hope. "So, what do you think?" he asked.   
"Duilin........it is not that I do not want children.... but that is such a great undertaking. Let me think about it. After all, we have all the time we need."   
Duilin hugged her tenderly, kissing her forehead. "All the time you need, melmë."


	50. The Raven and the Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Glorfindel will face Laura after what she did during their 'friendly' duel. What will be her reaction?

Chapter 50: The Raven and the Gold 

The punchbag bobbed on the branch as Laura delivered another heavy blow.   
She was breathing hard, sweat carving rivulets down her pale face.   
She had ruined everything, as per usual. Glorfindel had challenged her to a friendly duel......and she had been so desperate to defeat him she had been anything but friendly. She had even been willing to hurt herself to stop his victory.   
And his eyes! She couldn't shake that memory, no matter how hard she hit. His voice had held real anxiety, maybe even pain.   
'Laura, enough!'   
His cry had brought her back to herself. During the duel, it was like she had been jailed up. The cold assassin, that one schooled and bred to kill, had taken over her body, and forced her---what she had come to consider the real her--to become a spectator. Glorfindel had pulled her back.   
The punchbag dropped, following with a grainy thud onto the grass. Laura knelt, puffing out her cheeks in exasperation. Her blows had ripped the fabric.   
She sighed, crouching on her heels. What would have happened if she had hurt Glorfindel? The King would have put her under house arrest, maybe even in the dungeons, but that was secondary to what she would have done. If, under that berserker fugue, she had hurt Glorfindel, she would have killed herself.   
That was her birthright. The Facility had made her the Da Vinci of fighting, stealing her capacity to feel to do so.   
Feelings… feelings… feelings! Life had been easier without them, but then, she hadn't truly been living. To live was to feel things. With Alassë's patient help, she learned that feelings brought flavor to life. Everything she thought black and white was all the colors of a hummingbird’s wing.   
But realizing that she was in love with an impossibility, had stolen the color away again. Only during those times when she touched Glorfindel di the dreamy, quilted greyness slip away. When they touched, she felt like new senses had been given to her, making her able to fully appreciate the splendid world around her.   
Laura didn't know what caused the electric, eye-opening sensation, but she knew it was like being pulled from one reality to another, and the jolt of being forced back into a monochrome world after being dazzled by beauty was worse than simply staying in her own grey world.   
She turned on the punchbag, extending her claws and attacking it, until it lay in ribbons, like an external reflection of the chaos in her heart.   
Then she stood, breathing hard, her claws reflecting red in the sunset. There was something else red on her knuckles too. It was blood.   
Another time, Laura would have continued her regime without hesitation, but she had begun to realize that this self-torture was no use. Instead, she began to scoop up the sand and tattered bits of cloth, putting it into the sandbag.   
She thought of closing up again, putting up her old walls, but she realized that the love she had Glorfindel would not fit inside her shell. She would explode, lashing at those nearest and dearest to her, showering them with shrapnel. She could not do that.   
Laura finished cleaning up as best as she could, and headed for her cottage to take a bath, although she knew she would be coming back out soon. While she was doing that, she could formulate an apology for Glorfindel, and cross her fingers that he would forgive her. She would deny that she had felt anything, and she doubted her would bring it up. It seemed to her that Glorfindel didn't like talking about that feeling.   
It was best to apologize and promise never to do it again.... assuming Glorfindel would ever invite her to another friendly duel, or anything friends did. 

***

The evening sun illuminated Turgon's face as he turned it West, back towards his city. Standing by her horse, Idril smiled fondly, her hair a golden spill of light in the sunset.  
Her father was no longer dressed as a King: his clothes were well-made but simple. She had seen that lately, her father's crown, although skillfully wrought and light upon the head, was heavy on the heart, so she forced him to go riding with her, hoping it would help him forget his cares for a while.   
Sheltered although Gondolin was, they could not help hearing of the tidings of Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel, who together had braved the darkness of the Unnamed and won back the Silmaril. But those were the only good tidings that came their way.   
The Ñoldor had lost control of the entire north of Beleriand, and Morgoth, enraged at his defeat at the hands of a half-Maia and an outlaw, had begun outfitting for war. To the East, Maeglin the Dispossessed was gathering the remnants of the Ñoldor to him in an alliance to take Thangorodrim, and the threat of war hung like a caul over Beleriand.   
"Atar," she said gently. Turgon turned from where Gondolin glimmered in the dying sunset, his face startled and confused. He smiled at her then, and she smiled back.   
"Atar, you can speak to me." Her arm made a broad gesture across the green fields. "There is no one else to hear, so talk freely. Unburden your mind."   
"Oh, that would be quite an avalanche," Turgon said. "But I will start with the least of my concerns. The firíma, Laura Kinney, wants to join one of the Houses."   
Idril smiled knowingly. "And none of the Lords wish her too," she said. "None save Glorfindel," Turgon admitted. "He continually advocates for her, no matter how poorly she treats him. He wishes the woman to join his House."   
"And what does Maeglin say?"   
"He says nothing: he remains neutral in this matter."   
"So, what do you wish?"   
"I do not wish her to join any House," Turgon said. "If the other Lords change their minds, I will not overrule them, but.... a chain is only as strong as its weakest link."   
Idril looked at him, her gaze strong and kind. "Then find her a different profession so she can put her skills to use."   
A slow smile was drawn on Turgon's face. "Itarillë, I am not slow to forget."   
"I know. Keep it in mind at the Council, Atar." She turned her far-seeing gaze Northwards, where, hidden by black vapors, Morgoth's stronghold lay. "There are many matters to be dealt with." 

***

"Laura?"   
Glorfindel closed the gate behind him. There was no moon and no lanterns.  
He saw Laura in the garden, sparring with a wooden dummy. She aimed a sharp kick at the thing's side then turned to face him, raking strands of hair out of her face.   
"What brings you here, Glorfindel?" she asked in a cool, emotionless voice.   
"I imagine you know," Glorfindel answered.   
"Yes. No one wants me to part of their House. My Lord."   
"You have completed your training, Laura, so there is no need for that. And you did very well."  
Laura slid him a sideways glance. "So why aren't I allowed to serve?"   
"The King will speak to you about that matter tomorrow,"   
Laura shook her head in exasperation. "Yeah, he doesn't need to do that. No one trusts me, that's why. Why was I allowed into training if I couldn't even be a soldier?!" she exclaimed, her voice furious.   
"Laura, it is not what you think."   
"It isn't, huh? So, what exactly is it?"   
"Laura-"  
"It's been a week, Glorfindel. I knew this was going to happen! You guys wouldn't let me in-"  
"Laura!" Glorfindel interrupted, his tone reproachful. "You have not even heard the King's ruling."   
"Fine. You tell me."   
"No. He wishes to speak to you in person. Besides, I came for a different reason."   
Laura crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes hard. "And that is?"   
He gave her a long-suffering look. Laura's face grew stony.   
"Why did you hurt yourself?" Glorfindel asked at last.   
"I didn't. It was just a scratch."   
"Laura, stop being flippant. It was a wound, and a serious one."   
Laura snorted and turned back to her dummy, pushing it until it bobbed around. "You worry too much."   
"No, Laura, I do not," he said, his voice so sharp she turned back to face him. "It was not you, was it?" he added in a gentler voice. "That was something that Hwa-Yong or X-23 would have done, not you, not the Laura I know now."   
"Maybe I haven't changed," she said harshly.   
"No. Hwa-Yong and X-23 do not exist any longer. Only Laura Kinney."   
"Oh, and you know everything-"  
"Blondie?" Glorfindel finished for her. "Insulting me will not change my mind. I know you well enough to be certain that you have truly changed. There was a metamorphosis, and you became....my BFF."   
Laura's eyes softened, then fell, but before they did, he saw a huge sadness that moved him to the core. "Sorry," she said in a low, husky voice. "It's.........it's......my training took over. Whenever I lost at the Facility....they tortured me. That's why I did it. I had to do whatever I could to win."   
Glorfindel looked at her, chilled with horror. He reached out instinctively to comfort her, then snatched his hand back just in time. "There is nothing to forgive, Laura. You are no longer under the Facility's power. You are in a safe place, where you can start anew."   
Laura looked at him sadly. "Maybe....but you can't teach an old dog new tricks."   
"Laura," He said firmly. "You are neither old nor a dog. You are a strong woman, who has achieved many good things. Seeing you injured---and with my blade--truly distressed me. You are my Elf-Friend, my BFF."   
"Yes...Elf-Friend...BFF," She murmured, lowering her head and looking away.   
"What is it, Laura?"   
"Nothing," She answered in a forced voice. "I need to be alone"  
"Laura-"  
“Seriously, Glorfindel, I need to be alone. Have a blessed night." She went quickly past him into the cottage.   
And without waiting any longer, she went to her cottage.  
Glorfindel stared at the closed door for a few minutes, his fëa shrunk with sadness at seeing his.......friend in such a state.


	51. If music be the food of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally...! Lord Glorfindel will completely realize what does he feel for Laura. Not to mentionn that the relationship between Lord Maeglin and Alassë will appear, the question is... how long will it endure?  
> Fortunately Laura will get a job that is of her liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Laura is singing when Lord Glorfindel arrives to her cottage is 'Where we start' from the album 'On an island' of the singer David Gilmour.

Chapter 51: If Music Be the Food of Love

Those who saw Prince Maeglin looked at him with more curiosity than usual. He was walking fast, moving away from the Training Field, his slender height emphasized by his tense posture. In truth, he seemed so tense as to be a violin string, tuned to the ultimate octave.  
As a part of the Council, he had been expected to be at the Field, where Laura would begin her work.  
Flashback to earlier this morning  
The High King rarely went abroad in Gondolin, as his time was consumed with ruling the City. As such, he had become more legend than man, and when the Gondolindhrim realized that their King was to be among them, the news spread like fire through gunpowder.  
The Lords had also been well-received, and Maeglin received as well as ever. He had returned their well-meaning, curious smiles like the unwanted gifts they were, and ignored the whispers. They no longer had any power to disturb him. Somewhere in the city, was a pretty Sinda, who could see the good in everything, and he intended to go find her as soon as he could.  
The freshest batch of recruits was gathered in the Field, and the King raised his staff for silence.  
"Stand at ease, recruits," he said in a hearty voice. "I see you are ready to begin your training, and I wish you the best of luck. Do well, and you will be able to defend your home against the most skilled of foes. I have faith in you all."  
There was a murmur of appreciation.  
"Some changes will be made," the King continued once it died down. "Your new trainer, Laura Kinney, will make all the adjustments she deems appropriate."  
A heavy silence fell, so thick it was almost tangible. Laura, standing beside Glorfindel, was the cynosure of every eye.  
"Do you have any words, Laura Kinney?" Turgon asked, turning to the face the woman.  
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she replied, stepping down from the dais and towards a barrel, where several hefty oak staves were housed. She picked one up and tossed it to a tall ellon, who had curled his lip when at the King's announcement.  
"You. What is your name?"  
The ellon, his grey gaze frosted over with contempt, said, "Alachon."  
"Well, Alachon, here is your weapon."  
The ellon held the stave in his hand, shuttling it through his fingers so it spun effortlessly in his grasp.  
"You have three attempts to beat me. If you even touch me with that stave, you will be the winner," Laura continued. "I will be without weapons, and I will not return your blows until your three tries are up." Alachon looked undecided but stepped out towards Laura. He moved fast, lunging out towards her with a neat jab at her chest. Laura leaned backward, the stave passing a hairsbreadth away from her chest.  
First try," she said. "Come on. I know you can do better. Here, how about this? I'll fold my arms behind my back."  
This time Alachon made a jab at her lower belly but Laura pirouetted easily away.  
Before she had time to speak, Alachon was lunging at her, feinting to confuse her, but Laura moved calmly.  
"Well, time's up," she said. "It's my turn, and I bet I can beat you with just one attack."  
Almost faster than his eyes could track the motion, Laura kicked the ellon in the face, knocking him to the ground. She stood with her foot on his chest, a metal claw pointed at his jugular.  
"I could kill you," Laura said easily. "But I like you too much." She leaned down and helped him up. "Go wash the blood off your face. Red's not your color."  
She switched her gaze to a wide-eyed elleth, extending the claws out of her right hand. "Would you like a try too?"  
The elleth shook her head.  
"Very well. Unless his Highness says otherwise, we will begin once our friend Alachon has cleaned the blood off."  
"Yes, madame," the recruits chorused.  
A few of the Elf-Lords smiled. These recruits would suffer at the woman's hands, but they would be true soldiers.  
End of Flashback

Maeglin had been standing at the opposite end of the royal dais, away from Turgon. It had only been when the Lords were readying themselves to leave that he had seen Idril by her father's side, talking quietly to him. Dressed in a garment white and delicate as hemlock, she was a portrait of artless, unaffected beauty, filled with sunlight.  
Maeglin's breath had caught in his throat, and he had taken a few steps towards her. He could sense her awareness of him, but before she could turn her blue, too-deep gaze on him, he had turned and fled, in fear that the strange magic Idril exerted over him would overcome him. 

***

His smithy was a large building, separate from the palace. Although it had many windows, it was surrounded by a thick grove of blue pine, so there were many shadows.  
He smelled flowers as soon as he stepped in, a strangely charming odor, so different from the normal smell of coal and pine and dust. A glass vase, filled with hyacinths was sitting on his anvil, the flowers snow-white.  
"Alassë? Are you in here?" he called, stepping in.  
"Of course!"  
He saw her deep in the forge, fumbling through his tools to uncover a lantern. She turned to greet him with a bright smile, intoxicatingly happy and sweet.  
Alassë had begun to care for him, not as a mother, but as a close friend. She was a patient teacher, and slowly, had begun to remove the curtains he had put up behind his eyes.  
Her warmth could melt midwinter snow, her smile could heal grievous wounds, her words could calm an angry ocean. None knew how to bring peace to Eöl's son like the lovely-haired Sinda.  
"Pardon my tardiness," he said with an answering smile. "I was held up by the King."  
"You are a Prince, after all," Alassë said, bringing over the lantern and placing it by the flowers.  
"Yes," Maeglin agreed. "And did you hear the news?"  
Alassë smiled. "Who has not? The King has decided to let an Adan train the recruits. Do you know why?"  
Maeglin shrugged. "The Princess advised him too, I believe."  
"I see," Alassë said, looking away. At times she feared Maeglin was still in love with his cousin, but her concern dissipated almost instantly because Maeglin flew past Idril, asking instead, "How have you been faring, Alassë? I see you brought me a gift."  
Alassë laughed, gesturing towards the flowers. "Yes! The hyacinths. They are my favorite flower."  
Maeglin leaned down to smell them. "I understand why. And you have exquisite timing, for I have something for you." He reached into his jerkin and took out a square of cloth, green as new-hatched leaves.  
"Maeglin, I do not need gifts. Your friendship is more than enough."  
The Prince smiled, giving the parcel to her. "And your friendship is more than enough for me, but I enjoy giving you gifts, Alassë."  
Alassë turned the parcel over in her hands, then pulled the cloth off. It was a delicate, rose-gold bangle, a crimson bezel rose on one side, a butterfly with emerald-encrusted wings on the other.  
Maeglin smiled expectantly at her. "Well? Do you like it?"  
The Sinda wrapped her arms around him, her golden head only coming to his chest. "Maeglin, how could I not? It is so beautiful."  
On other occasions, the Prince would have frozen, unsure how to respond to such unnecessary displays of affection. But not now: not after Alassë's gentle guidance. Hesitatingly, he wrapped his sturdy arms around Alassë and pulled her slightly towards him. He had come to understand that displays of affection made her happy in the way nothing else could.  
Alassë closed her eyes in content. Her labor was finally paying off: her dream finally coming true. When at last she broke Maeglin stared at her with confused hurt, thinking he had failed in some aspect, but her smile calmed him. He had done well, and he found it filled with him a strange joy.  
"Will you put it on for me?" Alassë asked, holding out the bangle.  
Maeglin nodded, but, to his chagrin, his hands began to tremble when they touched her skin.  
The heartbeat of silence between the two felt long. Maeglin found himself sinking beneath the waves of her ocean-blue eyes, flecked with every color of the sea. There was a glow in her eyes, one he had seen more and more of late, but he still did not know what to name it.  
"You are very special to me, Maeglin," Alassë said in a low voice. "Your gifts are special, but you are more so."  
Maeglin smiled at her, trying to return her openness. "You are very special to me. You have so much life in you. So much..." He trailed off.  
Alassë's eyes grew brighter, the strange glow more pronounced. "Am I really so special to you?"  
"You are," he assured firmly.  
"Only that?"  
Maeglin frowned at her. Had he not said enough? What had he missed?  
"Because for me, it is different," she said, lowering her gaze. Her voice was hesitating, almost as if she were afraid to allow her words into the world. "I........I love you, Maeglin. Very much."  
Time and space seemed to contract, into a dot as fine as a needlepoint, crushing him into a tiny, frozen space. He tried to remember how to breathe, his tongue numb with shock.  
Love. And what was that? His mother had never desired children. Her affection was a tough, cold thing, and she called him Lómion in secret. To Aredhel he had always been the Child of the Twilight, never the child of the proud, fierce-faring huntress who loved sunlight. His father had not even graced him with a name until he was twelve. And the love between Eöl and Aredhel? What had that been? Possession? Enchantment? An unlikely, chancy bond between a reckless Princess with a taste for danger and a shadow-dwelling craftsman who craved light?  
He understood love in an intellectual sense, but on a visceral level, he was clueless. He searched his mind and found it gave him no answer. Then he searched his heart and found surprise and a slow, shy joy. So, he responded in answer to his heart, taking Alassë's chin so she could see his face, and smiling at her.  
"Do you love me, Maeglin?"  
That question left him confused and, this time, he could not find the answer, even in his heart.  
He thought of Idril. An unattainable star, standing on a crystal hill, far out of his reach.  
But Alassë? Alassë was not a Princess on a glass hill? Alassë was by his side, in his reach and he was immensely grateful for it. But was that......love?  
He remembered a definition of love he had read once: Love leads you to do the best for your beloved. If that was true, Alassë surely loved him. And what about him? He did not know. Most likely yes, but he was not certain.  
"I.....I guess so," he said looking away. He felt like he was walking in quicksand, where if he took one wrong step, he would lose that beautiful elleth forever. He closed his eyes. "Maybe. Yes, I think so."  
Delicate lips were on his. His eyes flew open, and he stared at Alassë, who had stood on tiptoe to kiss him.  
Fearful of ruining the moment, he leaned down and gave her a fleeting, awkward kiss, so shyly that Alassë giggled and kissed his cheek, which he was able to return more easily.  
The Sinda hugged him again and he hugged her back, calmer now that he was back in territory he already understood.  
Alassë closed her eyes. Maeglin had not exactly returned her confession: he had said he 'thought' he loved her. He was still too analytical, trying to force logic into matters of emotions, but she had no doubts that one day soon, he would understand love, and one that day, they would both be truly happy. 

***

Six Months Later...

Just as the Princess had foreseen, Laura had shown herself to be an excellent drillmaster. She was tough, demanding, severe, but she taught her recruits well, and eventually had managed to earn their respect.  
Laura showed no favoritism, but she cared deeply for the future soldiers placed under her charge, which was why her demands were so harsh. Daily, she forced them into intense training from dawn to dusk, and at times, she would wake them in the middle of the night. At first, the Elf Lords had thought Laura's teach methods brutal, but over time, it became clear that this well-channeled severity was achieving great goals. 

***

' Where we start is where we end  
We step out sweetly, nothing planned  
Along by the river we feed bread to the swans  
And then over the footbridge to the woods beyond

We walk ourselves weary, you and I  
There's just this moment

I light a campfire away from the path  
We lie in the bluebells, a woodpecker laughs

Time passes slowly our hearts entwined  
All of the dark times left behind

The day is done  
The sun sinks low  
We fold up the blanket, it's time to go

We walk ourselves weary, arm in arm  
Back through the twilight  
Home again

We waltz in the moonlight and the embers glow  
So much behind us  
Still far to go.' 

"Do you sing to the Moon?" a male voice suddenly said as the last chord was lost in midair.  
Laura turned and looked down. Glorfindel was standing in the garden, smiling up at her.  
"No," she replied. "The only song I know about the moon is very morbid."  
"Why so?"  
"It's about the death of a woman. The author had just married, and his wedding night he took his new wife out for a swim. At first, the sea seemed calm, but suddenly it became very strong and carried her away. He tried to save her, but it was impossible, and the new bride drowned on her wedding night."  
"That is tragic!" Glorfindel exclaimed.  
"Yeah," Laura agreed. "They found her body the next day. The author was famous, so the story began national news. He went into depression but then decided to write a song to cope with his pain. So, he wrote ' Caraluna'."  
"I would like to hear it," said the half -Vanya at last.  
Laura gestured for him to climb up to where she was sitting, on the roof of the cottage. Once he was seated next to her, Laura began to sing.  
"I don't understand," said the Elf-lord once she was finished. "The song sounds so happy."  
"The author thought he should write something happy, to distract from his own sadness. The song is from a Latin American country, and that culture has a very different way of dealing with death."  
Glorfindel looked at her for a moment. "At times I have no clue what you are saying."  
Laura smiled. "That's good. Speaking cryptically is always a good skill."  
Glorfindel laughed. "And the song you were singing when I arrived?"  
"Oh! It's a love song," Laura replied, feigning boredom. "I haven't played it for a while, but I didn't want to forget it."  
"I didn't know that Love caught your attention."  
"It doesn't interest me at all."  
Glorfindel looked at her curiously. "Why not?"  
"It's not very convenient for someone like me," she said indifferently, but the truth stung deep inside.  
"Laura, you cannot-"  
Laura stopped him with a quick chop of her hand, her face going cold. "Let's not start. If you want to stay, we don't talk about my past. If not, you can go back to the palace."  
Glorfindel realized he had taken a misstep and fell silent. Laura played arpeggios; her gaze distant. Finally, the half-Vanya said, "I brought you a gift."  
Laura turned to face him, her annoyance clear. "A gift?"  
"Yes. Close your eyes."  
"Oh wow!"  
"Laura," he pleaded. "It is a surprise."  
Laura sighed then did as he asked.  
"Hold out your hand," he ordered gently.  
She did and felt something metallic deposited in her palm. She opened her eyes instantly and saw the emblem of the House of the Golden Flower, an empty circle with a celandine flower in the center, wrought of gold.  
"You can wear it on your belt," Glorfindel explained. "Perhaps the King did not allow you to enter my House, but to me, you are a part of the Golden Flower."  
Laura's face softened, her mouth open with surprise. Then she arranged her features, holding back the hug she had wanted to give him. If she did, he would know what she was feeling, and their friendship would be over. So instead, she looked at the medallion for a long time. "Thank you, my Lord. Laura Kinney is at your service, any time."  
Glorfindel smiled at her. "I know. I've always known."  
Laura's breath caught in her throat. Helpless to show her love and appreciation in any other way, she picked up her guitar again and began to play and sing 'On Horseback.' After a minute, Glorfindel picked up the tune and sang with her, as they had not done for many years.  
When they finished, Laura smiled at him. Her eyes were shining, and Glorfindel suddenly saw how wrong he had been to think her homely.  
On the contrary, she had a beauty in her, a beauty that went beyond words because it was not seen with the eyes, but with the heart.  
And in that moment, he realized that he, Glorfindel, Lord of Golden Flower, Gondolin's Darling, had fallen in love with a former assassin from a different world, named Laura Kinney.  
And for the first time in his life, he was truly happy.


	52. Tears uncounted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's remember that Maehdros tried to make a union of different armies in order to defeat Morgoth but the result was a disastrous defeat in the so famous and so sad 'Battle of Outnumbered Tears'. This is the relate from Maeglin's POV of the moment of the battle.

Chapter 52: Tears Uncounted  
Someone screams out my name. A sound breaches this blood-soaked continuum.   
I turn fast, my shortsword in one hand, my slender knife in the other, ready to stab and to slice, ready to save.   
"Duck!" I scream at the soldier, as a goblin’s black blade hurtles to him, ready to cut the slender thread of life.   
But it is too late. My shortsword cleaves through the goblin's deformed skull, cracking bone, and the killer collapses on the killed. It took its own weregild before it could ever fall.   
I have fought for eight days, and my clothes are stiff with the blood of the dead.   
My knife makes a silver arc, slicing an Easterling's throat. The man's blood fountains up as I cut an artery.   
My own mother could not recognize this face.   
Thank the Valar for small favors.   
I press forward through corpse-choked reeds, the marshes sucking at my boots as if they are not gorged enough. I want to go where the fighting is the thickest, to Turgon's side.   
On the horizon, I see fires light up the smoky air. Glaurung stalks the night.   
I see Turgon, and he fights like one possessed, and I understand why, of all the Eldar, Morgoth fears him most of all. Fey he seems, and I love him for it. I wonder if he knows of his brother's fate yet.  
Then glowing green eyes find mine, and a great wolf-shape springs from the shadows, jaws open to burrow into my throat.   
I am knocked to the ground, rolling over and over, a mangled mass of steel and fur. My knife in one hand, I give up trying to keep the werewolf's jaws from my throat. Instead wrap my arms around its thick, shaggy neck in a crushing embrace, trying to stab.  
It howls out a death agony, and suddenly its crushing weight is pushed off me.   
A dwarf wielding a battle-ax is standing over me, wearing a hideous, horned war-mask. I cannot see his eyes, but he pulls me to my feet and then is gone into the fray.  
I look again for Turgon, but I cannot see him. Fear hollows my guts, and I hack through the throngs for a sight of him.   
I see nothing.   
Familiar faces pass by me, like ghosts. I see Glorfindel, his golden hair an idiot brightness in a place where all the stars swallowed. At his side, Laura fights like a clockwork soldier, moving in her own interior death-giving rhythm.   
Ecthelion’s face is hewn from stone as he chops down orcs like a lumberman felling trees. He sees me, hails me. I ignore him, pressing forward.   
Now I see Glaurung, still far off, but coming closer. He rears back on his hindlegs, beating his wings, and even from here, I feel the tremendous, sulphur-tinged wind. Small figures surround him in horned masks: the Dwarves are taking on the dragon, and I feel a sudden kinship towards them all. Dwarf or Man or Elf, it matters not. We are all here, gathered for different purposes, but we are all here.   
It seems war is the only thing that can bring us together.   
I fight on.   
For a minute, I think I catch sight of Turgon, but then a lumbering troll cuts off my sight.   
I slide under the spiked club, huge as a full-grown tree. It comes smashing to the ground and I dart between the troll's legs.   
"Over here!"   
Another warrior grabs my shoulder. He is exceedingly tall, and his hair and tattered cloak are a chaos of crimson.   
He bends to one knee, his fingers interlaced, nearly touching the ground. I run towards him, setting my feet in the cup of his hands, my knife ready. He straightens, pistoning me upward. As he lifts me, I raise one foot and placed it on his shoulder, using it as a foothold to lunge for the troll's hamstrings.  
I catch hold of the troll's knee and clamber up his leg like a boy inching up a tree with no branches in reach, my knife clamped in between my teeth until I reach the upper leg.   
Then I cut. My knife, of my own making, parts the grey skin of the troll, going past muscle and membrane to slice the tendon.   
The troll roars, falling to his knees, and I am forced to leap into the fray or be crushed.   
Then the red-haired warrior is there, scything down a circle of foes so I may land safely.   
He pulls me up, and with a nearly casual flick of his sword, beheads an Orc.   
"Do I know you, boy?" His eyes bore into mine.   
"No, sir," I say, though I know him.   
"You fight well," he says, and I run on.  
Rog and his House fight in a shield wall, smashing through their foes, mowing them down like a scythe mows down the wheat field.   
On.   
Vapors and smoke rise from the Fens, obscuring this atrocity from the eye of the pale moon.   
Or is it day?   
I forget.   
On.   
I hew my way blindly through a wall of smoke.   
Then a face is front of mine, a sneering, laughing face, eyes like pits of night in the white face.   
I swing my sword. The stroke cuts through empty air. Faster than my eyes can track the motion, the thing snakes behind me. It seizes me in its unholy grasp. An ice-cold hand crushes my sword-hand, forcing me to drop my blade.   
"My master will find you useful indeed, Eöl's Son," the vampire says, its voice a dark and honeyed baritone, chilling my marrow with fear and premonitions.   
I throw my head backward, feeling instant gratification as I hear its nose crack.   
I spun fast, throwing all my weight into a kick aimed at its chest. The vampire stumbles back, stinking batwings spread to catch its fall. I scrabbled about in the marshy water, searching for my sword, and found it tangled in duckweed.   
I wrench my blade upward, dripping with bloody water, but the vampire is already gone, searching for easier prey.   
On.   
At last, I see Turgon.   
He stands in the middle of the battlefield, and it seems that a light is about him. His face is deadly with wrath, he fights with the power of a tiger's charge and again I feel my love for him.   
Is this why I fight? For him?   
It is a good a reason as any for this hopeless, doomed devotion.   
Near Turgon are two men. I take them for brothers, for both are tall and golden-bearded, their eyes blue and dangerous, their armor slick with gore.   
I come to Turgon's side, and I know he sees me, although he makes no sign. At last I can lean upon my sword, and rest for a minute, for there is a wide circle around us, empty of foes.   
The older of the Edain brothers stands still as well. He removes his helmet and his hair falls in a shower of gold, streaked with grey. Blood flecks his beard, and I see the purple crescents that ring his eyes.   
"Do not lose heart yet, Lord Húrin!" Turgon said, and the medley of power and despair in his voice takes me by suprise.   
Húrin looked at Turgon with a sad smile. "Those that remain fight to their deaths. Go now, lord, while time is! For in you lives the last hope of the Eldar, and while Gondolin stands Morgoth shall still know fear in his heart."  
For the first time, I see Turgon falter, and his face becomes grey. "Not long now can Gondolin be hidden; and being discovered it must fall."  
Huor came forward to stand by his brother. He was taller than Húrin, taller even than Turgon, and his voice was deep. "Yet if it stands but a little while, then out of your house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. Though we shall never meet again, from you and from a me will a new star arise!"   
And I see light, and it is not Balrog-flame nor Dragon-fire. It is a white, burning brilliance, as for an instant I see a star brighter than any ever before. It blisters my eyes and I lust it for its light. My heart beats fast, with a hope I do not understand and a fear I cannot contain.  
And as Turgon and I leave, to gather the remnants of our force, I look back once last time, and I see the brothers readying to fight once more.   
I feel the first tears sting my eyes, mingling with the sweat and blood. The air is rotten with death, and tomorrow morning, the dew will fall red for many leagues.   
The minstrels will sing no songs for this battle.


	53. To give what you cannot keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here starts the whole drama we know about the love between Princess Idril and Tuor while Maeglin little by little falls down first into the hatred and ultimately into the madness, but let's start with what happened just in the very beginning: when Idril and Tuor meet each other.

Chapter 53: To Give What You Cannot Keep 

FA 472: 23 Years Later ...

He walked for a while, holding the swan-helm under his arm. He had delivered his message to the High-King, and now he wandered their gardens while King and his Court made their deliberations.   
He himself was too weary for any serious thought, so he leaned gratefully into the hands of nature, drinking in the beauty.   
He made his way over to a pool of water, colored green by the leafy light, and sat by it, his back to the leaning willow tree.  
"I didn't know there was anyone here."   
Tuor stood up, his exhausted muscles protesting. The glory of Ulmo, the formidable power that had cloaked him when he entered Gondolin, was gone. Now he was merely a bone-weary and travel-stained man, who had been both a thrall and an outlaw.   
He nodded to the woman, who was dressed in black, her hair pulled away from her face in a tight braid. "Neither did I," he said politely. "But well met, nonetheless. I am Tuor, son of Húor of the House of Dor-Lómin."   
The woman's eyebrows arched in surprise, then she smiled at him. "Well, the resemblance is certainly there," She answered. "I am Laura Kinney."   
"You knew my father?" Tuor asked, his eyes sharp with eagerness. His father was the ghost of a memory in his mind, a gruff, bearded man with kind eyes, and he yearned to learn more of him.  
"Not exactly," Laura admitted. "But I saw him in during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad." She paused, her eyes far-away and crowded with bloody memories. Her body twitched suddenly, and she returned her gaze to Tuor, her eyes as green as thistles and no less sharp. "I never talked to him if that's what you're asking. But I remember his courage very well. He was an exemplary man."   
A sad shade of a smile flitted over Tuor's face. "So I hear." He studied Laura curiously. His eyes were blue, but they were the blue of the hottest fire, a blue that jolted the heart. They were dangerous, brilliant, and to say they were blue was like saying the sun is gold: true, but not able to capture the burning. "It is good to see another one of my kin here," he said at last. "You keep your youth well, Laura. Twenty years can sometimes change a man beyond recognition."   
Laura smiled. "Thank you, but I'm afraid can't take credit. Gondolin is good for my complexion."   
Tuor smiled back: he evidently did not believe her, but Laura decided she would let him learn the truth on his own.   
"I should be going," she said at last, when Tuor's gaze, like twin juggernauts, had become too much for even her. "See you around."   
Tuor bid her farewell, then resumed his seat under the willow, closing his eyes.   
When he did so, the rustling of the willow-leaves sounded like rain. He thought it very beautiful. It had been a long time since he had been able to let his guard down entirely.   
He slept.   
A calm voice woke him, its sweet, melodic tone stirring up an elixir of wonder and curiosity.   
He opened his eyes, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. He had never seen anything or anyone so heartbreakingly beautiful. She knelt before him, clad in flowing white, with a belt of silver flowers about her waist, she glowed like a fallen star in the green gloom: Idril Celebrindal, deemed the dearest treasure of her people. Her intent eyes caught him, so bright and blue and brilliant, and he knew that she read his inmost thoughts and dreams.   
"I bring a message from my father, Ulmondil."  
He leaped to his feet, and she rose with him, smiling. "I beg your pardon, Princess."   
"For what?" she chided laughingly. "None could fault you for sleeping. You have been traveling for many months. But that is over now. My father bids me tell you that Gondolin is your home."   
"But the.... message-" He began, stumbling through his sentence.   
She shook her golden head. "I heard the message. But what are the Noldor known for, if not for their pride?"   
"What of-" he began and was about to say Their beauty when she hushed him again. "There will be a feast held in your honor. Will you come, Lord?"   
"I will," he said earnestly. She smiled at him and was gone.  
***  
The palace and surrounding garments were lit by lanterns and torches, some tinted to give off red, silver, or blue light. Long tables groaned under the weight of kingly fare. Ribbons of crimson or silver were twined around the fluted pillars, and the air was enchanted by Elven music.   
Tuor sat upon the royal dais, his eyes wide. Never had he seen such beauty, and he felt overwhelmed and underprepared, bewildered by the sudden magnificence.   
"My Lord Tuor."   
He looked up quickly, wrenching his gaze away from the ongoing below. Idril stood in front of him, a slim-ankled dream in a gold-trimmed gown and a delicate silver diadem, inlaid with pearls.   
Tuor rose instantly to his feet, his face beginning to burn. Idril smiled at him and held out her hand.   
He took and kissed it gently, but when he looked up, Idril was staring at him. Her lips quivered, parted, her mystic eyes grew wide and confused.   
For only the briefest of seconds, her features were naked, open, searching. Then her face arranged itself, became the portrait of gracious decorum once more. "My Lord Tuor, how lovely to see you once more."   
"And you as well."   
She smiled, and passed by him, throwing a quick glance at the Elf that set to Tuor's right.   
Tuor followed the Princess' gaze and nodded to his companion, a silent Elf, dressed all in sable-black, with a silver circlet on his brow.  
Maeglin did not respond. He had seen it all, the awful, beautiful dawn of something he could not control. 

***

A dance was struck up as soon as the guests had finished eating, and the piping, lovely rhythm invited all to dance. Only Maeglin and Tuor remained seated, for the first despised dancing and the second did not know how too.   
During the dinner, Tuor had felt absurd, a travel-stained oddity in this bright place. He had no clue of Noldorin table-manners or Noldorin small-talk and fumbled his way through the meal.   
But he had always loved music, and once the dancing began, Tuor amused by keeping time, tapping out the tempo with his boots.   
"This feast is in your honor, and yet you do not dance, my Lord?" Maeglin said at last.   
Tuor turned, smiling. Watching Idril dance had gone to his head like fine wine, and he spoke unguardedly. "Ah, Prince! You speak at last. Your words must be valuable indeed, for you guard them like a Dragon."   
Maeglin smiled thinly.   
"To answer your question, I cannot dance. I have spent most of my life in the wild, and survival was the only thing that was taught." He looked back towards Idril, her enchanting grace making his heart beat hard.   
A wave of fury washed over Maeglin when he saw what the cynosure of Tuor’s gaze was. "What a shame!" he said. "I thought that since you are the messenger of a Vala, as you say, you would have a more varied skill-set. After all, a man with only one talent rarely impresses women."   
Tuor turned on the Prince, his eyes suddenly dark, and Maeglin understood he had overstepped his bounds with this strange, more-than-mortal man. "What ails you, Prince?"   
Maeglin drew in a deep breath, his gut churning with repulsion and a nascent hatred. "I did not intend to offend, my lord. I was only curious."   
"These days, more of us dance with swords than with women. And more of us court death then court brides," Tuor said.   
Maeglin reached for his untouched glass of wine and raised it in a cheer. "For the Celebrindal," he said abruptly, downing the glass in one swallow, and was gone, leaving Tuor with a bitter taste in his mouth even the sweet Elvish wine could not erase. Then he caught Idril's gaze, and she inclined her head to him. He smiled, bowing his head in response, and was considering coming down to her, when a tall, well-muscled Elf with a mane of red hair approached her.   
The Princess smiled and turned away with her new partner, whirling away from Tuor in a quick-step dance.   
Tuor had seen very few women in his lonely life. Now, he would only have eyes for one.


	54. Unrest in the city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuo'rs arrival has not only brought surprise, specially considering the way he arrived, how we arrived and why did he arrive. It has brought also unrest among the Elf-lords. What is their reaction considering Tuor's arrival and the message he brings with him?

Chapter 54: Unrest in the City 

By the time the banquet had finished the stars were pale, and by the time Idril had escaped to her chambers, Dawn was in the sky, pink fingers blooming. She leaned against the sill, her eyes vague and soft.   
Outside the window, a hummingbird fluttered, a flash of iridescent colors on the morning breeze. It paused, perched for the barest instant, then flew down to take nectar from the lupine that grew beneath Idril's window, and then was gone.   
Idril sighed, her head collapsing in her hands. Just as that hummingbird had stolen nectar from that flower, so had the sharp-eyed son of Húor stolen something from her. There had been something when he kissed her hand, something that had ensorcelled her, some vibrant, visceral magic.   
She remembered the night of Turuhalmë when she had her vision of Laura and Glorfindel, and she had felt a feeling, an emotion filling a void she never knew existed.   
So he had come, the other half of her soul.........in the shape of a man! A messenger of a Vala, a strange, golden man filled with power and light, but still a mortal.   
News traveled slow to the cloistered city, but she knew enough of Lúthien to understand the profound consequences of her situation.   
And she needed advice. Clairvoyant, sagacious, and clever she might be, but she still needed advice.   
Elyéta's name came to mind. All her ladies-in-waiting were married, but Idril felt closer to the sensitive young artist.   
She took a cloak, not wanting to be disturbed, and wrapping it around herself, left her bower in search of Elyéta. 

***  
Turgon's eyes were bitter as he looked out across his city, white walls shining like sea foam, cradled in the womb of Nature.   
Beyond those walls lay eras of empty wandering, homelessness, inevitable peril for his people.   
Here there was peace, at least for a while. He had learned early that living East of the Sea was costly, as life after life was stolen to pay a debt, he did not know he owed. Eventually, there would none of his kind left on Ennor, or the Valar would relent.   
The choice that lay before him was grim. To live in this great city in bliss for a time, then die a bloody death, or to wander, withering away to grey shades?   
He had only listened to his Lords at the Council they gathered, and he knew that some of them--Glorfindel and Maeglin--had seen the inevitable written on his face.   
They would not leave.   
Flashback  
His words had weighed down the air with a tremendous choice as Turgon recounted the events that had led up to Tuor's coming: how Tuor wore the suit of armor Turgon had left in Vinyamar on Ulmo's advice, the Sea God's command to flee to Sirion, as soon the Prophecy of the North would come to its bloody fruition.   
When the King was done speaking, he looked around the table, taking measure of each of his Lords.   
"Stay," Egalmoth said at last. "We have much here to treasure, much to protect. Our walls are strong, and we have the mountains to keep us safe as well."   
"Stay," Galdor agreed at last. "Gondolin a bulwark of hope for our kind. It is a symbol."   
"I will not die for a symbol," said Duilin.   
"No, my lords. None of us would give our lives for a symbol," Maeglin interjected smoothly. "But we are quick to think the worst."   
Ecthelion looked sharply at the black-haired Prince. "Are you suggesting we doubt Tuor?" he asked. "We heard the voice, and it was not Tuor's own. And he was clad in the livery of Nevrast, and many who are here gathered saw Turgon set them beyond the High Seat. And above all, he was mantled in a sea-mist, the cloak of the Deep-Dweller. I do not think further proof is needed that this son of Hador's House comes from Ulmo himself."   
"It was an impressive performance," Maeglin agreed. "And Tuor has a silver tongue. But are we to believe him simply because the man is eloquent?"   
"Do not forget the armor," Penlod said.   
"Of course," Maeglin agreed with a smile. "My Lords, I believe that Voronwë was born in Nevrast, was he not?"   
There was a murmur of assent.   
"Thank you," the Prince continued. "So, I may assume that Voronwë knew that the High King hung a suit of armor? And might not he have shown Tuor that suit of armor?"   
"And why would he do that?" Glorfindel asked coldly, his eyes welded to Maeglin's own.  
"Otherwise, he would have come home in disgrace, with a wrecked ship and a failed errand. He was washed up on the shore like a rat. Now, he comes bearing a message of enormous proportions, so that the fate of Gondolin itself hangs in the balance."  
"You are quick to discredit the both of them," Ecthelion said.   
"Hardly, my lord!" Maeglin exclaimed. "But when they come bearing such tremendous news, surely we must call their characters into question. Do you not agree, Lord Salgant?" he asked suddenly, turning to the sluggish Lord with an enchanting smile.  
Salgant leaned forward, beaming. "You bring up some salient points, my Lord Maeglin," he agreed. "And think my Lords," he said, widening his gaze to include the rest. "Tuor has had a tragic life. Both his blood-kin and his foster-family have died, and he was both a thrall and an outlaw. Voronwë was in a shipwreck where all his companions were drowned. Are we to think that has not done some damage?"   
"You mean to their mind?" Glorfindel inquired, his face rigid. "Are you suggesting that they are demented?"   
Salgant shrugged in a neutral gesture. "Merely examining the facts, my Lord."   
"I have one more question," Maeglin said, picking up the thread of the conversation with seamless grace. "The Prophecy of the North concerns only the Noldor, as I understand it. Why would the Valar involve a mortal? Their lot is not cast with ours."   
"You are walking a dangerous path," Ecthelion said softly. "Do not lightly question the will of the Valar."   
"I question many things," Maeglin said, and his eyes glittered darkly. "Death foisted those questions on me, Lord of the Fountains."   
Ecthelion turned to the King. "My Lord, if we stay, imagine how many lives we are putting at risk."   
"Who is to say the chances of survival are better outside these walls? The journey to Sirion is long and hard," Galdor said. "There is no point in running. Let us stay, and fight when and if the time comes."   
"We play with fire," Ecthelion said bitterly.   
"Then it is well for us stone does not burn," Turgon said, rising. "Do we reach a consensus, my Lords?"   
"I will stay and fight," Rog said, and the other Lords echoed his pledge until Glorfindel and Duilin stood alone.   
Glorfindel stood up. "My King, you will have my sword as long as I live. But I cannot offer you my approval."   
"I do not need your approval, only your allegiance," Turgon answered dryly. "And what of you, Duilin?"   
"You have my allegiance," the Swallow answered sadly. "But my heart belongs to another, and it says to go while there is time."   
End of flashback

***

Glorfindel laved his face in the fountain basin, then rested his head on the rim. He was fuming with anger. The Council had been held at noon, and now it was deep night, but the elapsed time had done nothing for his temper.   
"Why don't you take a bath?"   
Glorfindel straightened slowly as Laura crossed over to him, sitting down on the edge of the basin. "What happened?" she asked.   
Glorfindel shook himself like a dog after a swim, then raked his radiant hair out of his face. "What happened?" he exclaimed. "Well, to sum up my morning, half of the Lords decided to disobey the direct commands of a Vala! And Maeglin........Maeglin is ruthless in convincing the King to stay!" His voice danced at a pitch he could seldom attain.   
"We can all be stubborn at times," Laura said cautiously, trying to defend her friend. She still felt close when the Prince, even though he had been changing, and not for the better.   
"You do not understand, Laura," Glorfindel said, his chest tight with anger. He began to walk away from the fountain.   
The woman followed him. "So explain it to me."   
Glorfindel paused, then sighed. "Very well. Ulmo, King of the Sea, sent a message to the King through Tuor. The Curse of the Noldor is nearing its fulfillment. We must abandon Gondolin and flee to the Havens of Sirion."   
"And why won't they listen?"   
"Tuor's character--even his mental balance--is being called into question. Maeglin is trying to slant it to look like a trick played by Tuor and Voronwë, and of course, Salgant stands by him. Egalmoth believes that our walls are strong enough, and Galdor believes that by deserting Gondolin, we are symbolically surrendering to the Dark One."  
"Oh," Laura said slowly. "Well, I don't think we could stand an assault."   
Glorfindel laughed mirthlessly. "No! Of course not! Our only real fortifications are our secrecy. If you strip that away, you are left with a massacre in the making." He lowered his voice. "If the Unnamed One sets his fire-drakes on us, half the city will be in flames within minutes."   
"And what did you say?" Laura asked, watching him.   
"I said that I would stand by the city, but I also stand by Ulmo's warning."   
"And?"   
"The High King noted that he did not need my approval."  
Laura nodded. "Okay. Come on." She gestured to him, and they began walking towards the wall. During the day they had their own obligations, but they devoted the nights to each other.   
Since Glorfindel had realized his love for Laura, he had given her two epessi: Morifindë, for he loved the black softness of her hair, and Maistalda, meaning beautiful strength.   
Laura had been surprised: she knew that the Elves only gave pet names to those they considered very dear, and she had never expected an epessë like Maistalda. However, she refused to harbor illusions. Elves felt more deeply than humans, as they were fine-tuned to the world and each other. So all those names meant was the half-Vanya loved her as a friend.   
When he had asked her to give him an epessë, she had refused, saying she only gave nicknames to people she wanted to make fun of him. He had Blondie, wasn't that enough? 

***

"So, what would your decision be, Maistalda?" he asked, once they were alone on the wall.   
"The obvious: leave."  
"Why?"  
"The city is well fortified and that our soldiers are well trained-"  
"It is true; they have the most skilled trainer I have ever met," Glorfindel interrupted, smiling. He loved giving her compliments but knew if he were too aggressive with his sweet words, she would push him away, thinking he was mocking her.   
Laura raised an eyebrow at him, clearly annoyed. Glorfindel's small compliments only drove the thorn deeper in, as he only made them to be a good friend.   
"Forgive me. Pray continue," he said when he saw her reaction. It would take labor and time to mine his way through her steely temper.   
Laura shook her head, leaning against the battlements. "Look, I still remember that Battle. Alone, we don't have the slightest chance. Also, we're trapped. This place is surrounded by mountains, and the soldiers can climb mountains, but imagine those who aren't soldiers? What happens then? If the King decides to stay, we'll be the same as Troy or Edom."   
"What happened to those kingdoms?"   
Laura turned to him. "Utter annihilation," she said tartly.   
The Lord of the Golden Flower was thoughtful for a few moments.   
"I do not understand why they do not heed the warning," said Laura after a long silence during which only the gentle whistle of the wind was heard. "From what I've read of Noldorin history, every time you disobey the Valar, things go from bad to worse."   
"Right now, the Noldor have very little save for their pride," Glorfindel said with a sad shade of a smile.   
"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Laura rejoined mockingly.   
"There is no need for your sarcasm, Morifindë."  
Laura snorted. “I have had almost thirty years to fully realize just how proud Elves can be. If not for my healing factor and my immortality, I would be considered less than nothing"  
“Let us not forget your skill for battle."   
Laura smiled, flatter, and Glorfindel smiled back.   
"One day I'll beat you."   
He laughed. "I doubt it."   
"I have time to learn."   
Glorfindel nodded. Time was no longer a problem for them. Here, Time’s line was derelict, and he hoped soon he would be able to confess his love.


	55. Life without Love, Tree without Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little problem will arise between Lord Glorfindel and Laura that will make difficult the fact of confessing his affections towards Laura. Meanwhile, Idril needs advice since she has fallen in love and what about Maeglin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Idril is singing is 'The Blue' from the album 'On an island' of the singer David Gilmour.

Chapter 55: Life Without Love, Tree Without Blossoms 

Elyéta sat beneath the silver-green canopy, her chin in her hand as she sketched. The solitary weeping willow, the place where Duilin had found her nearly two decades ago, had become her secret place, a haven filled with beauty, comfort, and silence.   
Twenty years ago, she had been painting a portrait of Ardyl. Now, she drew a robin mother with her chicks. Since Duilin had broached the subject of children, Elyéta could not stop thinking of it, and her art reflected that inner turmoil.   
She finished the robin's tailfeather and smudged the charcoal with her finger. "Ardyl, I do miss you," she said quietly. Her little friend had passed on several years ago, and although Duilin had shown her countless birds, she had never found the heart to replace him. It had been a hard blow for her.   
"That is only natural. He was very dear to you."  
Elyéta looked up inquiringly as the drooping branches of her willow parted. The Celebrindal ducked inside, throwing the hood of her cloak back. Elyéta leaped to her feet, curtseying. "My Lady! I did not know you required your ladies-in-waiting. Allow me a minute and I'll accompany you back."   
Idril shook her head and knelt beside Elyéta's sketch, turning it around to examine it in the green light. "Never mind that. Are these Ardyl's chicks?" she asked.   
Elyéta shook her head. "No. His descendants all live in the forest. They will not come into the city."   
"Then why did you draw chicks?"   
"Duilin wants children," Elyéta admitted in a low voice. "I.......am conflicted, and I suppose my art shows that."   
Idril laid down the sketch, looking up into Elyéta's face. So, the Swallow must have softened far more then he let on. "Why? Do you not want children?"   
"Oh no!" Elyéta exclaimed. "I want children, only I'm afraid. I am afraid of failing, of being a poor mother. My brother raised me as best he could, but he was always a brother, so I have no one to emulate. And I want to be the best mother I can be. I want to be perfect."   
"You never will be perfect, Elyéta, but you will be the best for your children. Your child will be very lucky to have you and Lord Duilin as their parents."   
"Are you sure, my lady? I am afraid to fail."   
"Beyond sure, and you will not fail," Idril said confidently, smiling at the young painter.   
Elyéta returned the smile shyly, but it faded away soon as she met the Celebrindal's eyes. "Pardon my forwardness, but it seems I am not the only one who is afraid."   
Idril sighed and motioned for Elyéta to sit on the green carpet next to her. "I need to confide in someone, Elyéta. And I trust you. Can you give me your opinion and advice?"   
"My advice?" Elyéta exclaimed, her eyes wide. "My Lady, you are wisest in Gondolin. You hardly need my advice."   
"No, I do," Idril said earnestly. She hugged her knees to her chest. "I have no experience in matters of the heart, and you are happily married."   
"So, you are in love?" Elyéta asked. She relaxed a little, leaning against the willow trunk.   
Idril nodded slowly.   
"So who is the lucky one?"   
For the first time, Idril discovered uncertainty. She flicked a sideways glance at the painter, who was smiling expectantly at her.   
"The newcomer," she said softly. "I think I am in love with Tuor."   
Elyéta gasped and Idril looked shyly at her. The painter's hands had flown to her face like two white birds, and her eyes glowed. "Oh Idril!" she cried in a low voice, overflowing with joy. Overcome by her happiness, she hugged the stunned Princess.   
Idril stiffened, then unwound into the warm embrace. "Wonderful?" she said when Elyéta had let her go. "What is so wonderful about half of my soul being mortal?"   
"Hardly a Mortal. He is a messenger of a Vala."   
"But why does that help me? I have heard that Beren was a great man, but both he and Lúthien will partake in a mortal's fate."   
"True but answer me this. Would you rather live a few decades in complete happiness, being fulfilled and safe and loved? Or live eternity knowing that you could have been happy, and you threw that chance away?"   
Idril opened her mouth, then closed it again. Elyéta dared to take her lady's hands, holding them gently as if they were close friends.   
"Princess, Love is a gift, a gift not everyone is given. Do not throw it away because you are afraid. Lord Tuor is a scion from a great House, a House that your father befriended. More than that, he is a great man, deemed worthy to be a messenger of the Válar. You and he are so different from everyone else around you. I don't know what is, but when I see you, I think you have been given a double share of life and light, and when I see him, I think the same thing. The One gave you Tuor because he knows how extraordinary you are. And perhaps from this union, will come a new hope for both our kinds."   
Idril frowned a little. Elyéta's words echoed in her heart, and she sensed their truth.   
"So, has he spoken to you?" the painter asked curiously.   
Idril shook her head, feeling a flush rising in her cheeks. "No. We have not spoken since the feast."   
The other smiled sympathetically. "Well, here is my advice. If your heart sings when you see him, follow that song. The One will decide what happens, and there are no better hands to trust."   
Idril nodded slowly, her eyes soft and childish. Then she stood up, followed by Elyéta. "Thank you," she said earnestly to her lady-in-waiting. "Please, don't tell anyone about this."   
"It is secret between you and me."   
The Princess nodded and stepped out from under the willow. A second later, she parted the branches again, saying softly, "Elyéta, if how you have guided me is any example, you will be the most excellent mother a child can ask for." 

***

“Never think that a battle will be fair and honorable! You will never find honor on a battlefield! Honor in war was an idea made up by the people who stayed home. Do you understand me?"   
The ellon on the ground looked up at her with shocked eyes. Laura pulled him to his feet. "Again," she ordered, in a voice that did not admit reply.   
In a corner of the Training Square, Glorfindel watched. Ostensibly, it was to monitor the recruits' progress, but he spent every chance he could get there, watching the love of his life.   
In truth, the love of his life was a hard teacher, almost cruel. She was so incredibly demanding the half-Vanya had once told her that this was not the Facility. She had elbowed him in the ribs and said 'I don't care if you like what I do, Blondie. I get results.'   
Twilight was coming fast. The year was growing old and leaves had begun to change colors, the song of cardinals tinging the air with autumn.   
"So, she trains the recruits,"   
Glorfindel turned and nodded amiably to Tuor, who was approaching him.   
"I suppose surviving the Nírnaeth Arnoediad taught her a lot," the man added, standing beside the Lord.   
Glorfindel was tall, slender but well-built, his face fair, his hair a river of gold. He was wearing the colors of his house, a mantle embroidered with threads of gold and green and strewn with celandine flowers as if he had decided to drape a field of flowers over his shoulders.   
But Tuor was not easily overshadowed. The man was taller than Glorfindel, with the athletic physique of a skilled fighter. His hair and beard were a rich gold, like the color of a ripe wheat field. But beyond that was a warmth and power, an inner radiance that made people flock to be with him.   
"Yes, she is very skilled in combat," the half-Vanya agreed, looking back to the fight. "How did you know she was in the Battle?"   
"She told me," Tuor said. "It seems living in Gondolin preserves one's youth," he added with a wry quirk of his lips.   
"Ah, so she has not told you," Glorfindel said.   
"Told me what?"   
"Duel with her," Glorfindel said. "I believe that will explain much."   
There was a silence, where Tuor stood thoughtful and Glorfindel watched Laura. He never tired of seeing her. The woman with an exterior of steel had a golden heart that he needed to get to.   
"What are you here for, my Lord?" Tuor asked, at last, seeing that Laura was dismissing her recruits.   
"I come to see how the training is progressing," the Elf-Lord replied, looking away.   
Húor's son smiled. So, he was not the only one sick with Love, nor was he the only one who had fallen in love with a woman outside his own kind.  
Laura was coming over to them now and greeted Glorfindel with a nod. The Elf-Lord nodded back, smiling. "Laura, this is Tuor son of Húor, the Ulmondil. Although I believe you too have already met."   
"Actually, we have," Laura said, extending her hand to the man. "It is good to see you again."   
"Actually, Tuor has come for business," Glorfindel interposed, his eyes alight with mischief. "He wants to duel with you."   
Laura groaned. "I've been fighting all day."   
"Oh, come now," Glorfindel retorted, guiding Tuor towards the arena.   
The woman hissed through her teeth. "Fine." 

***

The Ring was lit with lamps that glowed with an amber shine. They cast a ruddy glow on Tuor's axe, Dramborleg, his faithful and terrible companion. His shield was the one he had found in Vinyamar, showing a white swan on a blue field.   
Laura looked him up and down. Tuor had something in him, something that Laura could never had put into words, but it commanded her respect. However, the idea of fighting so mighty a warrior also gave her a surge of adrenaline. She unsheathed her claws, smiling ferally at Tuor's look of surprise.   
"Begin!" Glorfindel called from outside the ring. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Laura had covered the distance between her and Tuor with one leap, unleashing a barrage of attacks that offered the man no quarter, as she gauged his abilities.   
At last, Tuor stopped her with his axe, going on the offensive with a force that made the woman retreat. But Laura was not surprised for so long. She skipped and dodged around Tuor, then lunged at him with incredible speed, head-butting him with such force that the man stumbled backwards, dizzy.   
The man recovered fast, feinting with the pike of his axe towards Laura's stomach. Pirouetting away from the blade, Laura was slammed with Tuor's shield, with enough force bright lights exploded in her vision.   
Laura shook her head, trying to get rid of the dizziness. Before she could recover, Tuor swung his axe towards her shoulder, thinking she would slide under it. Instead, the weapon sank in almost to the bone, like a knife slicing through butter. He pulled it out, and ran over to her, frightening at the blood spilling out on the white arena sand.   
But by the time he approached, the wound was only a faint red line, leaving only torn clothes and blood on the sand. Laura smiled at him, rolled to her feet, and hit him in the face. “Never let your guard down.”   
Tuor ducked under her claws, rolling several feet away from her, readying his axe and shield. His blue eyes shown with a power that was beyond mortals or immortals.   
For the first time, and against her will, Laura began to retreat. Although she landed several well-placed blows, the odds were shifting tectonically towards Tuor.   
Finally, with a sweeping blow from Dramborleg, Tuor held the razor edge of the axe at Laura’s throat, pinning her between the stakes and his weapon.   
Laura began to move towards the axe, as if she was still trying to attack him.   
“Enough!” Tuor said sharply. Laura leaned backwards, Tuor’s words making her feel guilty and humiliated.   
“Alright. It was a friendly duel anyway,” she muttered.   
Tuor lowered his axe and Laura turned to Glorfindel. “Tuor won,” she said sharply. “Happy now?”   
“I see that,” Glorfindel replied, looking straight at Laura, who pretended not to notice.   
“It has been a pleasure,” Tuor said. “But if I may, my Lord, Laura Kinney, I will retire.”   
As soon as the man was out of hearing range Glorfindel turned quickly to Laura. “Laura, why would you do that?”   
“Do what?” she asked innocently.   
“This is not the Facility. You were not in danger.”   
“You’re wrong, Glorfindel. That man is not just any man. He was a real opponent, and I wanted to win. Winning is what I was designed to do, okay?”   
“Do not say that! You were not ‘designed’,” Glorfindel said urgently.   
Laura crossed her arms, her face going cold. “Don’t change the subject. Tuor has a power in him. I was created to be the best fighter there is, but there is no way I could match his power. Maybe the Council should think twice about their decision.”   
Glorfindel sighed. “You may be right, but I doubt that a duel will change the King’s mind.”   
“Let a Lord fight him in front of the King. That would prove something!”   
"What if he loses?"  
"Oh, believe me, he won’t," Laura said. "They say that the eyes are the window of the soul, and I’ve seen many things through those windows, but never power like that.”  
“Very well,” Glorfindel said, his voice subdued and sad, and began to move away.   
Laura pivoted quickly and ran after him, blocking his path. “Glorfindel?” she asked softly. “What is it?”   
When he looked at her Laura felt a chill run through all her nerves, reaching her heart. For a flickering instant, she thought she saw herself mirrored in his eyes, strong and beautiful, her scars ornaments of a special soul.   
“Maistalda, you must never speak of yourself like that.”   
Laura shook her head angrily. “Look, I am an experiment. That’s the harsh reality.”   
“It is not true!” Glorfindel shot back. “You are far more than that. You are more than an experiment to me, Maistalda.”   
Laura felt her heart stop, her blood suddenly frozen in her veins. Then she drew a deep breath, shaking a way the illusion. “It’s true, we are BFFs,” she said calmly, but inside she was crying, thinking how much she would give if they could be something else. “I’m sorry, I’ll try not to say things like that. I’m going to take a bath. I must mend my shirt too. Have a blessed night.”   
Glorfindel stayed in place until she disappeared from sight. 

***

Tuor’s eyes were caught by movement on the steps, as the Princess went down into the gardens. It might have been a trick of the eye, but it seemed the starlight pooled around her golden head in a silver halo. She slipped quietly down the stairs, carrying a lyre in her hands.   
He hesitated from his place in the shadowy alcove. He longed to follow her, but he also feared that she would be unhappy with that. He chose to shadow her at a distance, listening to her sing from a place that could not make her uncomfortable. 

***

Shameless sea   
Aimlessly so blue   
Midnight-moon shines for you

Still, marooned   
Silence drifting through   
Nowhere to choose   
Just blue ...

Ceaselessly   
Star-crossed you and me   
Save our souls   
We'll be forever blue

Waves roll   
Lift us in blue   
Drift us   
Seep right through   
And color us blue

Wait for me   
Shameless you, the sea   
Soon, the Blue   
So soon ...

She stopped abruptly, hearing the crack of a twig, and stood up, expecting the worst. “Who is there?” she called firmly. “Show yourself.”   
“It is I, my lady. I did not intend to disturb you.”   
Idril felt her heartbeat mimic the frantic beating of hummingbird wings, but she said with polite coolness, “How good to see you again, Lord Tuor. But I thought you were asleep. The moon is high.”   
He paused several arms-length from her. “On a normal night, I would be in my bed,” he admitted. “But Lord Glorfindel insisted I duel Laura Kinney, and thus I am still awake.”   
“And who won?” Idril asked, sitting back on the bench.   
“I, Princess.”   
Idril hoped her smile was hidden in the shadows.   
“But it was a hard battle,” Tuor continued. “She is a skilled fighter. And I accidentally wounded her, but the wound knitted. That a clever magic and I thought you could explain it to me. But I see I interrupted you, so I will leave you now.”  
“No need!” Idril said, quicker than she would have liked. Her heart seemed to be beating in her throat. “I can explain now, if you wish.” She gestured to the marble bench.   
Tuor sat at the other end. For an instant, he looked at her with an honest, innocent appreciation of her beauty, but somehow Idril sensed that he saw the greatest beauty within, and it made her blood warm.   
“Thank you,” Tuor said. He did not speak loudly but his voice rumbled in her teeth and bones like mellow thunder.   
Idril considered what she was doing for a brief minute. Then he smiled at her, and she decided to surrender to Fate. 

***

Unbeknownst to the two of them, a tall figure stood cloaked in shadow. Starlight caught the gift in his hand just before his hands closed into huge, muscular fists, hiding the gold from sight.


	56. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The love between Idril and Túor is developing while little by little Lord Maeglin and is falling into hatred and with hatred hurting the ones who loved him like Alassë. And what about Lord Glorfindel and Laura?

Chapter 56: Falling   
The rising Sun found Idril and Tuor on the same bench.   
They had talked through the night, savoring each other's company, listening to each other like the words spoken were golden, and loved the silences even more than the conversation.   
In Tuor, Idril found something she had never found before. He had a gift for making people love him; men, women, children, dogs--anything with two eyes and a sense of goodness. There was a depth to him, something beyond the polished veneer of courtly convention, the polite mummery, the song-and-dance politicians, and leaders must perform. His conversation flowed with sincere listening and intelligent responses, and he seemed to glow with an easy, golden light. He was a sun, a star, a man, more than a man, the essence of everything noble and good. She had thought these things throughout the night and rejected them all, knowing they did not fully capture him.   
In Idril, Tuor found a rare, complex soul, a coin with two sides. On one side was Idril, the golden Princess, who took the burden and knew the power, who played the part and seemed like a well-protected flower. Her father's aide and confidant, her City's symbol of hope and prosperity, a womanly figure, the Flower of Gondolin. Intelligent, vivacious, serene, a true noblewoman.   
On the silver side was the Celebrindal, a brilliant, restless, hauntingly beautiful creature, someone fey at times and wise beyond the rights of men or gods. That part of her flew up to Tuor like a bird crying through the rain, something wild and eldritch and wrought of steel. That part of her appealed to his wanderlust, to his sea-longing. He felt that they could walk together, they could run together, they could sail together, they could feel and love the remorseless call of the Sea together. They could look at the rain and knew where it went, and look at the birds, and wish to have to wings.   
A slight cough brought them apart, stopping their conversation. Elyéta stood a respectful distance away, smiling apologetically. "A thousand pardons, my lady, my lord, but the King wishes for you to join him at the morning meal, Princess."   
"Of course," Idril said easily, standing and smoothing out her silver gown. "Lord Tuor, it has been delightful. Perhaps we can repeat it sometime."   
"The pleasure has been all mine," he said, standing and bowing as if they had not been baring their hearts to each other ten minutes ago. "I shall see you soon, I hope?"   
"Of course," Idril said, lifting her skirts so the dew would not dampen them, and went with Elyéta into the palace. Once they were inside the marble corridor, the door between them and him, Idril grabbed her lady-in-waiting's arm and asked eagerly. "Well, Elyéta? What do you think?"   
Elyéta smiled. "That you should feel happy and confident, Princess."   
Idril began to walk again, her hair gleaming in the light that came through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "And.......what do you think.... he thinks of me?" she inquired timidly.   
Elyéta's face bloomed into another smile, this one more delighted than the last. "That he loves you. That he adores the ground you walk on. When he sees you, his eyes shine the way Duilin's shine when he sees me."   
"Are you certain?" the Princess asked with the shyness and doubt of a child.   
"Of course, my lady!" Elyéta insisted firmly. "Your fear is normal. When you find true love, it is to think it could never be requited. But Tuor all but overflows with love for you."   
"But I am a Princess," Idril continued. "Do you think that will make a barrier between us?"   
"Love cannot distinguish between a Princess and a servant. If he loves you, you will be the Queen of his heart, even if you do not own the clothes on your back. It may take time, but the day will come when he tells you that."   
The Celebrindal looked at her uncertainly for a few moments, but the confidence with which her lady-in-waiting spoke encouraged and reassured her.  
"Thank the gods for you, Elyéta, but we must go. I would not want to keep my father waiting. He becomes quite terrifying when he is hungry."   
***

Tuor had remained behind in the garden. Although he had not slept the whole night, he did not feel tired but reflective. Thoughts marched around him, a tangled dance in the ballroom of his head, but they always came back to Idril.   
Idril who he loved. He thought--or maybe that was only a wish--that she loved him. And what then? Their love would be brief, a candle lit on both ends, something tragically beautiful. And would she consent to that? To give up immortality for a few years with him? He found that hard to believe. 

***  
Maeglin tore across the grass, slamming his smithy door open with a burst of savage strength. Rage throbbed in his veins, alternately hot and cold.   
He smelled the lilacs, and in a burst of fury, swept them off the anvil. The crystal shattered on the stone ground, and the flowers lay weeping in the pooling water.   
"Maeglin?"   
The voice was timid, the voice of a field mouse who tries to stand in the way of a charging tiger.   
Alassë's eyes were riveted to the litter of crystal and lilacs on the ground. He turned towards her; his black eyes filled with such bitter, thwarted rage that she nearly choked on her own breath.   
Nevertheless, she came towards him, putting her hands on his muscle-knotted shoulder.  
"Not now, Alassë," he growled, shrugging her off.   
Alassë felt hurt envelope her, but she tried again, following Maeglin as he paced across the smithy, stamping out the stone with his anger.   
"Maeglin, if you will not tell me, how can I help you?"   
He swung around to face her, smiling a bright, hard smile that cut her worse than any knife. "Alassë, why do you think I want your help?"   
The Sinda's eyes widened, but she was nothing if not loyal. "You may not want it, but you need it. I promised you that I would be by your side, and I always keep my promises. What is it, Maeglin?"   
Maeglin drew a deep breath as a sliver of reason asserted itself. Whatever was happening, Alassë was not to blame. "You cannot help me with this," he said coldly. "It is better you go."   
"Maeglin-"  
"Go!" he ordered, his voice stentorian, pointing to the smithy door. "I do not want you here!"  
"Why are you doing this? Why are you suddenly treating me like pissant?"   
"I am a Prince," Maeglin said harshly. "I am the Prince of Gondolin, and you will obey me, Alassë."   
"Yes, you are the Prince," she said sweetly, trying to mitigate his wrath. "And I respect your authority, but-"  
"There is nothing to argue about, Alassë! Why are you not gone?" he said. He was furious at what he had witnessed in the palace garden, but that was no reason for him to treat Alassë so cruelly. He realized that he had hurt her, but he did not feel any desire to apologize, he only had the desire to destroy and cause the same pain that he felt.  
"Alassë," he said in a strained voice, making a mighty effort to maintain his composure as he clung to the edge of his worktable. "Please leave."   
"But Maeglin-"  
"Get out of here right now!" he shouted, turning on her like an enraged panther. Alassë recoiled, taking several steps backward, then turned and ran.   
Maeglin stood in the doorway, watching Alassë disappear. After a time, he turned back into the smithy and picked up Idril's gift. He wrapped the necklace around his hands and pulled. The golden chain cut deep into his skin, becoming red, and then it flew apart. He dropped it on the ground and stepped over it to the shattered vase. He crouched down and picked up a lilac.   
Alassë always brought him flowers, and he liked the way they brightened his workplace, just like the pretty Sinda had.   
The lilac sprig was trampled and damp, its delicate flowers bruised, but it smelled beautiful. That was Alassë, always there for him, giving him in the love that had been denied since birth, but now he wondered if she would come back.   
In his gut, Maeglin recognized that this was the end of the golden age of his life. If Idril would not recognize his own love, how could she stoop to love a simple messenger, the pet courier of the gods? Idril, the creature made of light, would let her brilliance be extinguished by a mortal?   
He knew Idril loved the Man, knew the Man loved her back. And how was that right?  
Betrayal cleaved his heart.   
He understood that love and hate lie on the same spectrum, and he felt the scales tipping towards hatred. Idril, like a goddess with all her beauty, so filled with light she almost overflowed. And had he thought, at times, that she was simply immune to love? That she was wild and untamable? And then she had tumbled, tripped over her own dancing feet, into the arms of a Man. Tumbled into an unnatural love that was pale and cold compared to the love he could give her.   
He stood up, and picked up the glass shards and the flowers, throwing them in the dustbin. If Alassë came back, perhaps he would apologize. But there was no point in continuing the pretense. His heart, whatever remained of it, belonged to Idril, and would all the days of his life.

***

Flashback  
"Well, what do you think?" Laura asked as she showed Glorfindel through her new house. Maeglin had designed it for her and had enlisted some of his house in the building.   
The house was small, airy, filled with clean lines, flawless craftsmanship, and understated elegance. It was in a high place, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and the terrace faced Westward. On the roof was a small room, which Laura had turned into an observatory.   
On either side of the main door were gray stone benches, painted grey liked the house, with veins that mimicked marble, and in the back was a minute flower garden, with a small wisteria tree and flowers that were easy to care for.   
"It is very beautiful, Maistalda," Glorfindel said approvingly. "And will you tend to the garden?"   
Laura nodded. "Yes. Not my area of expertise but Alassë has promised to teach me."   
"Alassë?" the half-Vanya repeated, surprised. "And she is your........friend?"   
"Believe it or not, yes," Laura said coldly, truly offended.   
Glorfindel was silent: although his comment had not been kind, it was understandable. "My apologies; that was uncalled for," he said. "Who is Alassë?"   
Laura felt hurt, but on the other hand, she could not hold a grudge against Glorfindel. Instead, she sighed. "Alassë is a Sinda who sells fruit at the Lesser Market. She taught me to write Tengwar and it's nice to have a female friend. I can talk to Alassë about things I can't really talk to you about."   
Glorfindel stood beside her, far enough away so that they would not touch. "For example?"   
"Well, fashion, relationships, jewelry. Things like that."   
Glorfindel shrugged. "Egalmoth and Maeglin seem to talk of nothing but jewels and Salgant is quite an authority on fashion. And we talk of love among the Lords."   
Laura shrugged. "Okay, fine. But if I started telling you about my monthly cycles, who would you feel?"   
"I would send you down to the Healing Houses," Glorfindel said.   
Laura laughed. "Probably. But my point is Alassë is a treasure."   
"I am sure she is," Glorfindel agreed.   
"Yeah, she's teaching me how to be a gardener." Laura snorted. "Seems ironic."   
"Not at all," Glorfindel said mildly. "It is better to be a warrior in the garden, then a gardener in a war. Besides, nature is not forced to be scoffed at."  
Laura crossed her arms. "Who would say that an assassin would have her own personal garden?"   
Glorfindel looked at her. "Former assassin," he reminded her.   
"Okay. Former assassin," Laura rejoined sullenly.   
"Laura, enough," he said. "You love Nature--you befriended a pack of wolves."   
Laura returned his gaze. "You're right. I'm sorry I keep bringing this up," she said. "I already forgave myself, Glorfindel, but that doesn't mean what I did can't be undone. I'm reminded of that every time I look in a mirror. I'm an experiment: created to kill."   
"You were," he agreed. "Now you are another person, Maistalda, of that I am sure. You are more than an experiment; you are a person."   
Laura raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you sure?" she asked in a low voice.   
"As sure as I am of my own life," he replied, smiling.   
End of Flashback

Glorfindel stood in the antechamber, waiting to deliver his report to the King.   
He watched the ingots of sunlight come through the long, narrow windows, remembering the night before.   
It was clear Laura's sense of personal identity was intricately tied together with the ideas of 'experiment' 'assassin' and 'Facility.' She kept bringing the subject up because she wanted him to reassure her. His unthinking exclamation of 'You are more than that to me, Maistalda!' had lowered her barriers for a minute. He had seen surprise and something he could not identify in her green eyes.   
But still, Laura was knotted up in the idea that she was nothing more than an experiment, something that had come from a test-tube, to be implanted in a foreign womb, a tumor thrust into the world. If she saw herself like that, she would push him away when he confessed his love for her. And she would push him away hard because she could not believe anyone could love her.   
It seemed like an unsolvable problem.   
He thought these thoughts with some desperation, and ran his hand through his loose hair, trying to gather the paltriest scraps of an idea.   
"What troubles you, my Lord?" asked Turgon's voice from the door.


	57. Gestalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The engagement announcement between Idril and Túor is going to happen meanwhile Lord Glorfindel must face a problem that can affect severely when he confess his affections to Laura. And for the first time, the loyalty that Maeglin had towards his king and uncle will change to hatred.

Chapter 57: Gestalt 

"What troubles you, my lord?"  
Glorfindel turned, bowing politely. "Nothing, my Lord. I only bring you the report."   
"And all is well there?"   
"Of course," Glorfindel assured him quickly. "Would you like the details?"   
"Not as of now," the King replied. "But I would like something from you. I have a duty to make certain my people are well. In particular, that my Lords are free from trouble and able to focus on their duties. So, I ask you once more, Glorfindel, what is troubling you?"   
Glorfindel looked down, feeling like a miscreant child under the King's agate-grey gaze. "Nothing, my Lord," he repeated weakly.   
Turgon arched a slender, mobile eyebrow. "You are no expert at lying, Glorfindel, and I am glad of it. But if that is your final answer, I will not force you."   
Glorfindel winced. For him, that had always been the final crowbar that pried out the information. "My Lord, how could I make one change their opinion of themselves?"   
"And what is their opinion?" Turgon inquired.   
"This person has an opinion of themselves that is diametrically opposed to everything I see in them. They have a very wrong concept of themselves."   
"And do you consistently remind this person that it is a misconception?"   
"Suppose this person refuses to listen? And all they do is apologize, but a few days later, say the same thing."   
"Continue reminding. Tell them what you think, and what you feel."   
Glorfindel grimaced visibly, and Turgon's face grew mild with amusement as his suspicion was proven right.   
"Tell them how you feel when this person speaks of themselves in such a way," He amended. "And say it so it touches the heart. We use platitudes and cants when we are in the territory of emotions, but say it in a new way, that comes only from you."   
Glorfindel nodded, studying the floor. What he had said had been spoken from the depths of his fëa, and it had lowered Laura's barriers, if only for a moment. But baring his soul to her.... letting her see what he saw in her.......so much could go wrong. And Turgon became aware of everything that crossed the Elf-lord's mind at that moment.  
"My advice is difficult to follow, but if you hold that person dear enough, then the risk will be worth it," He said gently.   
"Thank you for the advice, my Lord," Glorfindel answered, his voice low but earnest. "With your permission, I will go now."   
"I wish you luck,"   
Glorfindel bowed, walked away, Turgon's words spinning in his mind. The King went the other way, a smile on his lips. 

***

Years later…

An autumn wind hurried across the yellowed grasses of Tumladen, carrying its catch of red leaves. The wind stirred the many pools, making the water ripple with small waves, and it pulled at the golden hair of a man who stood immured in thought. Tuor stood on the shore of a large tarn, listening to the water lapping against the banks. It was a timeless, omnipresent sound. He had heard the Horns of Ylmir calling—and he would hear them till his death.   
So, he spent hours wandering Tumladen, picking his way through the myriad of small pools, standing beside them with his feet bare so he could understand them. There were fountains inside the walls, and their sound, although pretty, was not natural. So, he listened to the straightforward susurrus of wind and grass and most of all water and he thought of the sea. It was an achingly beautiful sound, the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, surpassed by one thing only: the voice of the woman he adored.   
'Wait for me, shameless you the sea,  
Soon the Blue, so soon,  
Soon the Blue, so soon… '  
He begged the Sea to wait for him, to remember him as he remembered it. In Gondolin, the Disquiet of the Deep-Dweller hovered over him like an unrestful ghost, too far away to hold, to close to forget. But he would not leave this white-towered city, because a star had crossed his path, trapped his heart in the web of Love.   
'Ceaselessly, star crossed you and me,  
Save our souls will be forever blue… '  
Tuor knew that Idril also had sea-longing imbued in the depths of her being, but he also knew she would not leave her father, even if he allowed it. Idril was Turgon's greatest treasure, and he guarded her like a dragon. Tuor closed his eyes. He longed to smell salt, hear the gulls, the majestic crescendo of waves crashing on cliffs, to feel the breeze that was found only on a beach, but his heart was divided between the sea and Idril, and Idril held a greater place. In secret, he hoped that once the Flower of Gondolin was his wife, he could convince the King to go to the Havens of Sirion. And then what? Stand by the sea? Have a child and teach him to paddle his own little boat? Perhaps, once he and Idril felt the winter of their lives drawing nigh, they would sail off into the sunset, lost in the sea, although that seemed as real as a fever dream.   
But to live here would be to live with his future wife, the Celebrindal. His mind was frescoed with memories, from the beginning until the time he had dared woo her, and the moment he had finally declared his love for her, and she her love for him. 

Flashback  
Although the Princess was full-grown, her character was faceted with the features of a child, and she loved to play games. This had surprised Tuor, but he enjoyed it very much. The childhood he had not was now within reach, and what was more, it was in reach with the women he loved with all his heart. Now, they sat together on the mossy ground beneath a pine tree, Idril with her knees pulled up to her chest, Tuor with his legs stretched out, leaning back on his elbows.   
"And I see something........something small and yellow," the Princess announced, smiling mischievously at Tuor.   
"Oh, come now! That is hardly enough to go on," the man protested, laughing.   
Idril giggled, her eyes deliberately fastened on him. "Lord Tuor, I have faith in your skills."   
The son of Húor sighed theatrically and looked around him. There was a patch of sunflowers, some in full bloom, and others just beginning to open. He thought that the best fit was a small sunflower, just begin to blossom, but the Celebrindal often chose things that were simpler and therefore more difficult to guess.   
A flutter of movement caught his eyes, and he saw a small bird hopping among on the ground. Its feathers were a sunny yellow, with grey-tipped wings and red-brown streaks on its breast. "Your Highness sees the small bird," He said triumphantly.   
"And what is that bird?" the Princess demanded, holding out to the bitter end.   
Tuor frowned, trying to recall what he had learned from his foster family.   
"Three," the Princess said, holding up three fingers and folding one down. "Two."   
"A yellow warbler!" he exclaimed.   
Idril smiled, looking down at him with a smile that melted his heart like butter in the noonday sun. "Well done. You turn."   
He looked up at her, an impulse born his heart. "Very well," he said. "I see someone golden. So bright it leaves the daytime star behind. I see someone with a soul so full of light and goodness. I see someone blue for their eyes are the color of the sea, the sea that attracts us all, authors a longing in our hearts. That is what I see, Celebrindal."   
Idril's face grew pale. Color poured in and out of the world as she tried to focus, tried to understand what he had said. She stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on him.   
Tuor rose with her, his eyes clear and earnest. "Forgive me, Princess, but my heart cannot hold this any longer."   
"Hold what?" she asked softly.   
"I love you," he said simply. "I love you with all my heart. Since the night of the feast, my heart has belonged to you only." He smiled; a smile tinged with sadness. "This is why I stay. I stay to be with you. I feel the sea-longing--you know I do, but my love for you is much stronger. But should you choose to love me, your sacrifice will be much greater than mine"   
Idril looked at him. "I will renounce the West if that is what it means," she said slowly. "I love you, Tuor. I have since the day we met in the gardens. You seemed to me then more than man. You were the grace of youth, and the valor of manhood, and the majesty of wisdom and age then, and so you have seemed to me since."   
She reached out and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and he kissed her, a kiss that showed them worlds, a braided kiss that twined them together.   
For Tuor, time was stilled, as he held her in his arms, breathing in her scent. It was dreamy and delicate, like paperwhite narcissus in spring.   
"Would now be the right time to ask for your hand?" he whispered; their heads pressed together.   
Idril smiled and answered an answer that would not only mark the destiny of her own life, but it would mark the destiny of both the Eldar and the Edain. 

***

Tuor returned to himself with a jolt. The sun was now traveling high in the sky, although the wind was still singing. Idril had chosen this restless day for their betrothal ceremony, perhaps in commemoration of the restlessness they shared.   
He turned from the pool and put on his boots, lacing them up quickly. Then he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, a piercing sound that carried above the wind. His grey stallion, a gift from Turgon, came trotting over amiably. He swung astride the horse, and urged him to a gallop, returning to Gondolin and his betrothed with the wind in his hair. 

***

The High King of the Noldor gazed at himself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a King from an ancient legend. His face was ageless, his hair black as a raven's wing, his eyes the uncertain color of the sea on a cloudy day. But now wherein the glass did he see the weariness that sat on his shoulders, encouraging them to sag. At times, he felt tired to the point of exhaustion. But when he had been too weary to decide, his Itarillë had been there, tireless. She offered him sage counsel, dealt with backdoor diplomacy, stopped court frustrations, and been his prop and support among many other things.   
So, this day marked the end of an age, and it was bitter-sweet. He felt confident that Itarillë had the intelligence and maturity to choose wisely, he felt certain that Tuor would remain besotted with Itarillë, he felt that Tuor, among all others, was worthy for her.   
Turgon struggled to make peace with himself. Her marriage would leave a void in his life, but it was a new beginning for his daughter. But he was left reeling, all the same. He ached at the idea of losing his child, the baby he had held in his arms, but he also understood that soon there would be a new weight in his arms. One day soon, he would hold a grandchild. The thought was enormously blissful and enormously sad.   
His daughter had reached womanhood and found the love of her life. He only wished that her mother could be there, to complete this achingly beautiful moment.   
Think of this, and of the grandchildren, he would soon have, he smiled. He put his powerful companion, Glamdring, in its ivory scabbard, and laid the crown of garnets, the color of the blood they had cost, on his head. 

***

Idril walked around the pavilion where the betrothal ceremony was to be held, considering it with a critical eye. She was already dressed for the ritual, wearing a simple silver dress, autumn flowers braided in her hair. When the marriage came, she would give in to the pomp and ceremony that was expected of a Princess, but the betrothal was a relatively private thing, and she and Tuor set it up as they liked.   
She climbed up the steps, a smile blossoming on her face. She could see herself now, exchanging the slender silver rings, promising undying love. What joy, what wonder! And this was about to come true. Her heart was so full of joy it nearly ached.   
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned quickly, expecting Tuor coming up the stairs.   
The smile fell away from her face. Maeglin approached her. She had not seen him for months, and the shadows around and behind his eyes were deeper than she remembered.  
"Have you come to wish me joy, kinsman?" she asked, a sheen of ice frosting her voice.   
"How can I wish you joy when your betrothed is in love with another, kinswoman?" he asked, spitting out the word like it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He stood by one of the fluted pillars that held up the domed roof, his empty hands by his sides.   
Her mouth twisted down in an unconscious moue of disgust. "I assume you do not talk slander for slander's sake, Maeglin?"   
His black eyes were intense and smoldering, and she felt an aura around him that put her on edge. "He loves the sea, Idril."   
"I know. He has told me as much."   
"Idril," he pleaded. "Idril, I am trying to save you. This man worships the Sea. He will find no peace in Gondolin, not even with you. I am trying to give you everything he cannot give you."   
"He gives me everything, Maeglin," Idril replied, her voice low and trembling with feeling. "He gives me everything, so you can give me nothing."   
"This is an unnatural love."   
The Princess laughed, a short, high laugh. "Unnatural! Unnatural! Oh gods, listen to what he says! Maeglin, I know what you desire, and I will say it. You lust after me. The Lords think you are simply begging after any scrap of love after a loveless childhood, and my father believes that you are attempting to be a brother, and if your customs are strange, it is only because you raised by the Wife-Slayer. But none of that is true. You desire me like your father desired Aredhel in the forests. Maeglin, I do not fault you for your father's sins, but I fault you for becoming like him."   
With uncanny speed, Maeglin lunged for her, grasping her wrists in a stone-crushing hold. "I am not my father," he snarled at her, and Idril felt his rage, a huge hot thing, a wildfire inside.   
She did not flinch away, only stared at him, her great blue eyes cold and calm. "So, what are you?"   
He let her go reluctantly, glancing at his hands as if he was afraid he had been burned. "I am Maeglin, your cousin."   
"And I will tell you this, Maeglin, my cousin," she continued. "Tuor is not the only one who heeds the Disquiet of the Deep-Dweller. Were I able too, I would walk with him by the pools."   
"I thought you loved Gondolin."   
"No. Gondolin is a marble cage, and its bars are familial love and filial duty. So, if I do love Gondolin, it is a proxy love, since my father adores it so. Do you understand me, cousin?"   
"I understand," he replied quietly. His fine-featured face had gone almost slack, as the fury burned itself out. "What do you love then?"   
"I love freedom," she replied instantly. "I love the sea. I love my father. But most of all I love Tuor, and I love that he understands me. And I will tell you this since you will tell none other. By the grief of my childhood, I was estranged from myself. One became two, threads pulled apart from the same weft. There is the Princess, the sunshine of Gondolin, the golden rose. And there is the silver, and she is like ivy, for if you cut her down, she grows back up. She grows up and up and you cannot stop her. Do you understand me, cousin?"   
"I understand," Maeglin said softly. "I understand more than shared blood warrants, perhaps."   
Idril looked at him for a long minute. "I think perhaps you do."   
"Then I tell you this, Princess," he said. "Gold and black do not often commingle, but when they do, they make twilight, and I have always thought that twilight is silver."   
Idril raised her chin, trying to keep away the tears that burned the insides of her eyes. "As have I, cousin. As have I."   
"Shall I still wish you joy, cousin?"   
"If you desire."   
"Then I shall not," he answered, and walked away down the flag-stone path. Idril stood still until he was lost from sight, trying to swallow the sobs that knotted in her throat. 

***

Maeglin walked slowly, counting out his steps. He felt giddy, unreal. His arms hung at his sides, strangely heavy and cumbersome. It was like he had only a tenuous grasp of reality and self now, like what had happened had caused a tectonic shift in his world.   
"What ails you, sister-son?" The King's voice called to him, kind and concerned.   
Maeglin erased his face to serenity, raising his head to look Turgon in the eye. "It is only a passing trouble, my Lord. You should not be concerned with me; you should be rejoicing with your daughter."   
"I have more than enough love for all my family," Turgon said, putting a hand on Maeglin's shoulder.   
"Then let me ask you a question, uncle,"   
"Anything,"   
"Why would you allow this?" He dragged a deep breath, calming his voice. "Why would you let Idril wed....a man? A great man, I am sure, but a man."   
"Maeglin-"   
"No, Uncle! You have allowed my cousin, your daughter, to be tied to death! Why have you so willingly handed off your greatest treasure to a mere mortal?!"   
"He is no mere mortal, Maeglin. He is a messenger of the Sea-King."   
"So, he says," Maeglin replied bitterly.   
"They love each other," Turgon said in a tone of gentle rebuke. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of love. Tuor will be like my second son. In fact, I wished to speak to you on that matter. The other Lords consider him worthy of joining the Council, and perhaps even having his own House."   
The Prince felt the ground give under his feet. "So much honor given to a wandering stray," he spat.   
"Hardly a stray," Turgon said. "A greater scion from a great House, I believe. He has lived through much, endured much, and is still a good man." He smiled again, bringing Maeglin closer to him. "When we see the good luck of others, it is easy to curse our own."   
He embraced the younger Elf and smiled fondly at him, believing Maeglin's expression to be one of resignation. "Take courage. Someday soon you will know what love is," he said. "I hope to see you at the ceremony."   
Maeglin watched the King go towards the pavilion, his face cold and expressionless. Then he spun on his heel and made his way towards his smithy.   
Chaos overwhelmed him. Behind the thin lid of an eye, dark tendrils reached up, beckoned, and swirled, and the name of the plant growing was Hatred. He had always hated Tuor, seem him as a rival, a scalding light. But now he also hated Turgon, for he had palmed off his daughter to a mortal. And Idril........Idril.........Idril........crazed love turned to crazed hatred and back again. He could not stop loving her, even when he hated her. He wanted to push her off the highest cliff, then be at the bottom to break her fall. He yearned to be with her, to share the light that shone on her reality, to show her all the beauties hidden in the shadows.   
She would be his, he vowed, and no price was too high.


	58. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gondolin is living an age of bliss.   
> Lord Glorfindel had thought until now that his love was one-sided but he will find that it isn't. How will it be?

Chapter 58: Revelation 

"This has been an excellent year," Galdor said to his other fellow Elf-lords once the Lord of the Fountains finished singing. "As excellent as the song Ecthelion just gave us."   
The Elf Lords were gathered in a room on the west wing of the palace. Three of the four walls were nearly covered with large oval windows. The floor was highly polished wood, and in the center of the room was a smooth white table, its top made from marble, its legs crisscrosses of black lacquered wood. The chairs were made from a reddish wood, with grapevines chiseled into the sides.   
In the corner was a cream-colored settee, embroidered with green silk leaves, as real as if they had fallen there in spring and been absorbed by the cloth.   
The Elf-Lords often gathered here when they were off duty, all save Duilin, who was too restless for any one place, and Maeglin, who savored his own company best of all.   
"Without a doubt," Penlod agreed. "The Válar have smiled upon us lately. More little ones have entered this world in this year than in the last decade, and now a Prince has been born."   
"And we cannot forget Duilin's twins," Egalmoth added, smiling. 

Flashback  
Egalmoth had been in the stables, currying his horse, Faervelben. He loved the quiet, uncomplicated company of horses above all others.   
Footsteps sounded behind him, soft on the hay-strewn floor. Egalmoth turned, and hardly had time to recognize the face when he was seized in a rough embrace.   
Puzzled, Egalmoth returned the hug, then pushed Duilin away from him. The young Lord's eyes had been incredibly bright, his face glowing with an untamable joy.   
"Wish me joy!" Duilin exclaimed, clapping Egalmoth on the shoulder. "Oh gods, I can hardly comprehend. I am to be a father, Egalmoth! Can you imagine!"   
Egalmoth looked at his friend, stunned. He had never seen this day coming. "I wish you all the joy in the world!" he said. "And when is the announcement?"   
"Today at dusk, at the Swallow Roost. And where is Penlod?"   
"I believe he is with the King." Egalmoth began, but before he finished, Duilin darted from the stables, running with the breathtaking speed that characterized him.   
Egalmoth smiled at Duilin's retreating back, delighted to see how truly happy his young friend was.   
His wife had followed him from Ennor and had survived the Helcaraxë, but they had no children. Neither of them had ever thought of such a thing, perhaps because neither of them could justify bringing a child into such a world. But that did not matter. Gondolin was safe, and the child would live in a place of peace and beauty.   
End of flashback

"And who would say that Duilin would have the best of both worlds?" Rog said, smiling. His own wife had remained in the West, but he still shared his young comrade's happiness.   
"It is said that the Válar favor fools," Glorfindel offered, and there was general laughter.   
Egalmoth shook his head, his face mild with amusement. "I have seen the children. The daughter, Sulneth, has inherited Duilin's taste for weaponry, while Glastor has gotten his mother's love for painting."   
"I can only imagine how their house looks," Rog returned, grinning at the image called to mind.   
"Less than tidy," Ecthelion agreed. "And we cannot forget our Eärendil."   
"How can we, when he has the run of the palace?" Galdor retorted. "The High-King obeys that child's every whim."   
There was another ripple of laughter. Eärendil was now a year old and doted upon by his grandfather.   
Ecthelion smiled. "But he is a strong lad, fair as an Elf-child, and he gladdens my heart."   
Glorfindel raised his glass of wine. "Ecthelion, you will be the best friend our little Prince can ask for."   
"Indeed," the other Lords echoed, imitating the example of the half-Vanya. Ecthelion smiled gratefully.   
There was a brief silence in which everyone seemed to be lost in thought, but this was broken by Lord Penlod who turned to Glorfindel, who was absentmindedly watching the dusk.   
“And you, Glorfindel? Have you ever thought about getting married?"   
Glorfindel looked at him, his face and voice nonchalant. Only Ecthelion, he knew him perfectly, could hear the studied lightness of his words.  
"I cannot say I have, Lord Penlod. I am afraid I have always winked at marriage, and love in general."   
"And why is that?" Egalmoth asked, leaning forward curiously.   
Ecthelion intercepted the conversation smoothly. "Glorfindel is young, and has so many things to accomplish, Love is not a priority."   
"Indeed," Penlod agreed. "I must admit, at times I still consider Glorfindel but a stripling."   
Glorfindel's golden eyebrows collided indignantly. "Oh, come now, Lord Penlod. I am not the youngest of the Lords. I have several centuries on Lord Maeglin."   
"I do not count Maeglin one of us," Rog said, crossing his sturdy arms over his broad chest.   
"Hush," Penlod said, silencing him. "He is the Prince and deserves our respect."   
"I give my respect to those who earn it. Maeglin is a skilled craftsman and a silver-tongued politician, but that does not balance out the way he hounds his cousin," Ecthelion said.   
Galdor the peacemaker held up his hand. "My Lords, surely there is something more interesting then Maeglin to discuss?"   
Their conversation continued for several hours until Rog left to take his place on the Gates. The gathering began to dissolve, and one by one the Lords left to arrange the affairs of their Houses.   
***

Glorfindel eyed the books that his second-in-command presented him with and decided tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with them. He left his House quietly and headed towards the Training Square to see if Laura was there. Occasionally she rousted her recruits from their rest to continue training. If she wasn't there, she would be on the West wall. Most of the nights they spent there, talking, getting to know each other, falling more and more in love.   
"So that is why you are slinking around."   
Glorfindel turned and smiled at Ecthelion. "I am not slinking. And what do you mean?"   
Ecthelion arched a single eyebrow. "It hardly takes a wizard to solve this puzzle, Glorfindel. How goes fares your peerless paramour?"   
"I do not have one," Glorfindel said.   
"Has she rejected your affections?" Ecthelion asked, putting his hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "You do me a disservice, friend, by thinking I am blind and simple."   
Glorfindel smiled again, shaking his head. "Ecthelion, no one thinks you are blind or simple. And no, she has not rejected me. But that is because I have never told her of them."   
"You are hardly a coward, Glorfindel. What is stopping you?"   
"She is," Glorfindel said. "She thinks of herself as a miscarriage. A mistake. If I said I loved her, she would never believe me, not if she sees herself like that."   
"And how do you see her?"   
"The most beautiful creation the gods ever made," Glorfindel said instantly, earnestly.   
"Then tell her that."  
Glorfindel ran a hand through his long golden hair. "She would never believe me! For years, I have been trying to convince her that she is more than an experiment, more than a misguided error. It pains me to the core to hear her call herself an experiment. I want to take that burden away and make her happy, Ecthelion, just like she has made me happy, even without knowing it."   
"Tell her how you feel."   
"She will reject me!"   
Ecthelion raised his hand. "I am not finished! Tell her what you feel every time she calls herself an experiment.   
"Glorfindel, tell him how you feel ..."  
" Didn't I tell you she's going to reject me ...?"  
Lord Ecthelion raised a hand to signal him to be quiet.  
"I'm not done," he said, "Tell how much it pains you. Surely will have changed enough to listen to you: after all, you did not fall in love with Hwa-Young or X-23."   
"No," Glorfindel admitted. "I fell in love with Laura Kinney, the most beautiful woman you will ever find."   
"My friend, you really are in love," Lord Ecthelion said with a sad smile. He did not understand this and did not think they were right for each other, but if the One had designed it, then Gondolin's Darling and the former assassin could be happy.   
"And do you think that is sufficient?" Glorfindel asked.   
"I do not know Laura Kinney well enough to give you a definitive answer, but I think that yes, in the end, it will be."   
"Ecthelion, do you think Laura loves me?" Glorfindel asked in a voice so low Ecthelion could hardly hear it.  
"Why do you ask?"   
"Perhaps I am frightened."   
The Lord of the Fountains put his hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, encouraging him instead of telling him what he thought. "I am not a fortune teller, but I can tell you one thing. If you truly love her, you must fight for her, and the day that you win, you will both be very happy. Have a blessed night, Glorfindel." 

***

"You're late," Laura remarked, once Glorfindel had made his way to the Training Square. She clapped her hands, dismissing the exhausted recruits.   
Glorfindel smiled. "A thousand apologies. Would you like to sleep, or shall we go to the wall?"   
"I don't need sleep if you don't," Laura answered. "A pleasant conversation with my BFF sounds good."   
They made their way to the western wall, standing side by side and looking over the merlons, out into Tumladen. Moonlight silvered the scene, and a thin layer of mist carpeted the grass.   
"When will these recruits finish their training?" Glorfindel asked   
"In two weeks. You know? This group has actually been okay. The previous ones mostly found that they would rather garden than fight."   
"You are a demanding trainer."   
"Not anywhere close to how I was trained."   
"They wanted you to be an assassin, Maistalda," Glorfindel said gently, looking at her. "You are not training assassins. You are training soldiers."   
"Maybe you're right," she said, turning back to admire the landscape.   
"Besides, those gardeners are improving the city in their own way."   
A thin, mocking smile traced Laura's lips. "You are way too kind. I think that they are losers. They wasted their time and mine."   
"You cannot judge them so harshly, Maistalda," Glorfindel said reproachfully. "All Elves in Gondolin yearn to improve and beautify their city. You cannot judge them for desiring to be soldiers. Dreaming cannot be denied to anyone."   
Laura's smile changed, became sad. "Believe me, it can be denied. Much more than you can imagine."   
Glorfindel chose his words carefully, aware he was walking a narrow, and slippery path. "It is true, there are those who are cruel to deny someone their dreams. But Life always gives a second chance."   
"You have a good point," she murmured.   
There was a long silence, only broken by soft gusts of wind, making Laura's long hair flutter. After training, she undid her braid and let her hair fall free. By now, it was nearly down to the small of her back. Glorfindel watched her, nearly ensorcelled. To him, this woman was more beautiful than a dream, more beautiful than the daughter of Finarfin or the Celebrindal.   
"What?" Laura suddenly asked, turning around when she felt his gaze on her. “Why do you keep looking at me like that? Do I have mud on my face or something?"   
Glorfindel smiled tenderly, a smile he had never given her before, and Laura felt a chill run down her back.   
"I was just admiring how well my epessë fits you, Maistalda."   
"The strength part is true," Laura said with an indifferent shrug, although inside she was trembling.   
"Beauty also applies, Maistalda. You are more beautiful than you know, inside and out."   
Laura laughed, a short, grainy laugh. "Me? Beautiful inside and out? There are beautiful assassins, but they are only beautiful outside. And I am not one of them."   
"I do not know of that, but I know you and that you are very different from the woman I met decades ago. And that change made you beautiful inside, and outside."   
Laura raised a mocking eyebrow. "Whatever you say. Have a blessed night." She turned, starting towards the stairs.   
"Maistalda!" Glorfindel called after her.   
"Glorfindel, I don't know what happened to you, but you are acting very weird. We'd better talk sometime else," she replied without turning around.   
"Laura Kinney, please come back!" he exclaimed in such a tone that Laura turned, but with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, an attitude that he recognized as defensive. If he were not careful, she would go on the offensive.   
"Glorfindel-" she began.   
"Laura, why do you not believe me?" he interrupted her, moving towards her slowly as if she were a bird he did not want to scare away. "I have known you for years, and I have realized you are no longer Hwa-Young and even less X-23. You are Laura Kinney and you are my Maistalda. Laura, why do you not believe me? Do you think I would lie to you?" he asked sadly, stopping a few steps away from her.   
Laura lowered her gaze and took a deep breath.  
“No, you wouldn't lie to me. I know that I can trust your honor," she answered in a low voice. "But I also know that when one looks for the good in people, one can convince themselves they see it, even where there is none. I am no longer an assassin or a spy, but I am what I am, and that is an experiment, someone designed for bad things." She turned around. That was the moment that Glorfindel was waiting for. In a leap, he crossed the two steps that separated them, and without thinking twice he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to turn towards him.  
"Experiment? Experiment?" he said in a broken voice. “Don't you see, Maistalda? How much damage you do me every time you call yourself with that cruel word!" Laura looked up at him, her eyes wide. Glorfindel was crying, and she felt something in her core shake, as she had never felt before. She remained motionless, her green eyes fixed on Glorfindel, who saw that, at last, the barriers that guarded her were completely lowered. He saw her sadness, but he also saw an emotion that made him shudder, because it was the same emotion he felt every time he saw or thought of her.   
“Maistalda,” he said, in a choked voice. “I beg you not to think of yourself that way anymore. You are not an 'experiment', you are, you are, you are ... you are Wilwarinda. As long as you think that you are an experiment, neither you nor I can be happy."   
Laura lowered her eyes, trying to keep the tears back. Seeing Glorfindel cry from the pain she had caused him made her ache with misery. A sob clogged her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to make it slide back into her stomach. She looked up, daring to finally look straight into his eyes, which were filled with a hope that made her quiver. But thanks to the magnificent self-control that had been instilled in her since her earliest childhood, she held his gaze and said in a voice as calm as she could make it. "Forgive me. I did not know the damage I was doing you. I will try not to think about myself as an experiment and will try to.... make you happy." The last three words came from the depths of her heart, bypassing her mind to enter the night air, free of conscious thought and utterly true.   
Glorfindel gave her a grateful and much calmer smile. “I know you will, Maistalda. After all, you are a very strong person with a temper of steel, but you are also Wilwarinda: capable of changing from the darkest and most dangerous person to one with a kind and thankful heart."   
Laura nodded slightly.  
"Have a blessed night," she murmured. And having said that, she disappeared into the shadows.  
Glorfindel watched her go without moving from where he was. He was sure that he had managed to move the young woman enough for her to change her mind, maybe not now, but this was the pebble that began the landslide.   
However, the greatest thing of all, and the greatest joy he had ever felt, was his discovery, the revelation that she loved him too.


	59. Tu Me Manques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeglin will do something terrible to Alassë, so terrible that it won't have any chance of being changed. Meanwhile Lord Glorfindel will ask Lord Maeglin to learn metallurgy for he will create the pledge of his love for Laura. This pledge will endure for over Three Ages and beyond.

Chapter 59: Tu Me Manques 

Laura sat on the roof, the three-quarter moon outlining her face in profile. Her handheld telescope sat unused by her side, and she thought about Glorfindel.   
Most nights, she would study the stars, making notes of the constellations and comparing them to the ones on Earth. Now, the wind riffled through her untouched notes.  
She had not seen Glorfindel for three days. He had taken over Duilin's charges while the Swallow raised his twins and had been too busy to visit her.   
'Experiment? Experiment? Don't you see, Maistalda? How much  
damage you do me every time you call yourself with that cruel word?!' Those had been his words, words filled with a feeling that went beyond anything Laura had ever seen. And he had cried. Gondolin's Darling had cried.......for her.   
She could not overlook such desolation. Seeing him like that had broken down all her barriers until she was naked to him. She had felt so vulnerable, so scared. And what had he seen? Her love? God forbid. And if he had, was that why he was avoiding her?   
Laura breathed in slowly, trying to crystallize her thoughts into a logical order. But that was nearly impossible when she thought of Glorfindel. Glorfindel drove her forward. He helped her grow, be a better person, dreamed dreams she had never dared to dream. Even though he would never understand what it was to be an experiment, programmed to kill from birth, a puppet designed around the Facility's iron fist. Even though he could not understand, he still pushed her to the best version of herself. Faces strobed through her mind like a stop-motion video, the people who had believed in her before she had ever met Glorfindel. Her mother, bloodied, dying, christening her. Logan, who had bonded with her over their shared mutation. Professor Xavier who had given her a new home and beginning. Remmy, the French mutant who had called her his 'Petite', and had taught her friendship, trust, and the brighter things of life. Remmy would always have a special place in her heart. But it was Glorfindel that ruled supreme, Glorfindel, the Elf with a heart as bright and golden as his hair. He had never given up, not even when she mocked him and deceived him. That Elf's perseverance had achieved things that not even Remmy could have, and she had changed many things so she could be close to him.   
Laura stood up, stretching like a huge cat. Dawn was in the air, and she hurried to put her things away and get prepared for the new day.   
Mist was ankle-deep in the streets, and she waded through it, heading towards the Training Square.   
A flash of gold appeared through the grey and her heart leaped, but she kept her face impassive. Glorfindel, flanked by two of his House, passed her by on the street, giving her a nod and smile.   
She returned it, feeling relief flood her like an elixir. 'He's not mad at me,' she thought. 'So, it's worth changing......or at least trying too.'   
Laura smiled with new spirit, ready to make her recruits suffer. Assassin or no, what she did was make soldiers. 

***  
Glorfindel bid his soldiers farewell, and changed his trajectory entirely, heading towards Maeglin's smithy.   
He was just outside of the pine grove that hid the forge from sight when a glint of pale gold caught his eye. He held out his hands just in time to catch an elleth, who had dashed out of the fir grove and into him.   
"A thousand pardons," he said, and as he steadied her, he saw her face. It was pale as bone, her eyes were huge and glassy with tears. "Pardon me, but are you all right?" he asked, concerned.   
The elleth stepped away from him, making a weak curtsey. Her voice was choked and barely audible. "Forgive me, my Lord. I should have been paying attention. Have a blessed day."   
And without waiting for his response, she fled, her face covered with her hands, crying heartbreakingly.   
Glorfindel looked after her, his eyebrows knit together with compassion and concern. Then he pushed past the branches and onto the narrow path.   
After a few minutes' walk, he arrived to find the smithy door wide open. He stepped inside, wincing at the sudden heat, the dim light, and the dusty smell. He had a thousand places he would rather be, but this was a small thing to do for the woman he loved.   
"Lord Maeglin?" he called.   
After a long minute, a soft voice answered from the shadows. "Lord Glorfindel. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"   
The half-Vanya turned and saw the Lord of the Mole emerge from the darkness, a thin, unwelcoming smile on his face.   
"I come to ask you a favor," Glorfindel continued. "I ask that you teach me metallurgy, specifically jewelry."   
Maeglin arched an eyebrow. "I am not a teacher, Glorfindel. If you want me to make you something, give me the specifics. After all, I made Duilin his engagement rings."   
"They were works of art," Glorfindel agreed. "But I want to make my own."   
A flash of unveiled annoyance crossed Maeglin's thin face. "I have neither the time nor desire to teach a beginner. I teach the best, Glorfindel. And let us be honest: you could not tell a chisel from a file."   
"I must do it on my own. Please, Maeglin," Glorfindel said.   
Maeglin's dour expression changed to one of sardonic amusement and he smiled a half-smile, sharing a private joke with himself. Glorfindel inwardly cursed the Prince's insightfulness. If Maeglin wanted it, his love would be on the lips of half the city in an hour, and on the whole in two.   
"Do not fret, Lord Glorfindel," Maeglin said as if reading the other's thoughts. "I understand your predicament, and I will teach you enough so you can gift your beloved with an acceptable jewel. I will see you here tomorrow morning. Until then, I believe you can find your way to the door." Without pausing, he turned and continued his work as if there was no one there. 

***

Lord Maeglin's POV  
'They come to me like flies to honey when they want something, the scrounging parasites they are. Duilin with his doe-eyed doxy, Glorfindel the Coxcomb. And yet their stories will end neatly, marked down by a 'happily ever after.' And what have they done to deserve that? They sit and complain like the cumberworlds they are, yet they are showered with gifts and love. Tell me, when did Glorfindel spend aching months crafting perfection for Laura? When did Duilin work until his back felt broken?   
Never. And yet they have it all. The only reason I chose to help Glorfindel was for Laura, who has shown some loyalty to me.   
All the rest have left me in the shadows: even the Celebrindal's light has forsaken me. Now she dances for Tuor on the wall tops and pretends not to see me.   
Once I thought I could live with another, but now I realize how blind I was, and I hate myself for it! If I had not fallen for Alassë I would have reached my cousin. I would have reached the Sun instead of trying to be content with a little flower!  
Fortunately, she will never come back, but the damage is done.  
How I hate everyone, but most of all… how I hate myself! '

***

Alassë lay at the base of a giant birch tree, the first sunrays filtering through its leaves. Flocks of birds sang to greet the coming morn and a babbling stream ran nearby, adding joy to this place, but there was no joy left in Alassë's heart. All the colors and melodies had disappeared from her life forever. She was pale, her dry eyes like blue marbles in her skull. She looked lifeless, thanotropic, cored out.   
She had always believed that people who had a difficult life had difficult tempers, and a clear example of this was Laura. It was impossible to be sweet and tender when life had always been pitted against them. Laura had said that that's why the story of Cinderalla could not be true because Cinderella would have changed sooner or later.   
However, Alassë had thought Lord Maeglin to be the exception. He certainly had a difficult temper, a difficult past, and no friends save for Laura, but Alassë had decided she could be his friend too. That, like the flowers that surrounded her now, she could bring color to the Prince's life, she could bring the song of friendship, and what is more, the song of love to his troubled heart.......but how wrong she had been!   
Because not only had her love never been requited but the poison that Maeglin had told her had been so cruel and merciless that for the first time, Alassë began to consider giving up, to leave everything behind and fade. 

***

Flashback  
Alassë had been seriously considering whether she should ever return to the smithy. His cruel, arrogant words had made her weep for hours, and yet she understood. She knew of the arrival of Tuor and she knew how Maeglin hated him, hated him for a reason that broke Alassë's heart in half.   
But she still remembered when Maeglin had asked her to teach him, guide him through the universe of emotion, and she, with nothing but joy in her heart, had done it. To the extent he learned to speak what was on his mind, to hug, to kiss, to even say that he 'believed he loved her', and Alassë had innocently believed the day would come when the Prince understood love, and they would be happy together. But now those dreams seemed like what they were: the desperate, threadbare dreams of an ignorant girl. The poison that Maeglin had spit at her was an acid, corroding her fëa.   
On the pretext of seeing how the young Elf-lord was faring, Alassë came to visit him in the early morning. As always, he was in his smithy. A canvas sack was laid on the table, and he was sorting through the gemstones it contained.   
"Maeglin? How are you?" she greeted brightly.   
She saw the Prince visibly flinch. Was his heart to blame for that? The elleth yearned for it to be so.  
"Alassë," he replied coldly, without turning around. "What are you doing here?"  
"I came to see you," she said shyly, stepping inside. "We haven't seen each other for a long time, and I thought-"  
"Should you not be setting up your stall?"   
Alassë felt her heart drop. It was clear that he did not want to see her, and it was clear he did not feel any remorse for his actions.   
"I have time," she responded, trying to blink away tears. "I wanted to see you."   
"For what? What do you want now?"   
"Maeglin, I don't know what's wrong with you. There's no reason for you to treat me this way."   
The Elf-Lord turned slowly from his table, crossing his arms. She was startled at his appearance. He was wearing a leather jerkin, crusted with grime, and he had evidently been mining. His hands were black and rough, his face and neck caked with mud. His eyes were disconcertingly red-rimmed. "Let me play the royal nursemaid one more time. I will put things simply for your sake, Wood-Elf. Everyone has taken advantage of me, but you… went above and beyond. You saw my need and under a false pretext, you tried to take me away from the Princess. You trapped me in your lies and homilies and left me there. Now even Laura has found love, but I am utterly alone because of you."  
Tears escaped Alassë's eyes, running away down her cheeks, leaving her heart body as if they could not bear to witness anything else. “Maeglin, you are never alone nor will you be. I will always be by your side," she sobbed. "I never took advantage of you. You asked for help and I gave it without expecting anything in return."   
"You expected my love in return," he said coldly.  
"No.," she said weakly. "I gave you my love freely, but I never asked you to love me. But if I remember rightly, you said you loved me."   
The Lord of the Mole laughed mockingly, a laugh so scornful and terrible that Alassë felt a chill run down her spine. This was not the Elf-lord she had fallen in love with.   
“And what did you want me to say, Wood-Elf? Did you want the truth?"   
"Yes. It would have been better for you to give me the truth instead of wasting my time," she said, taking strength for the first time, which enraged Maeglin further.   
"You would only have continued trying and you would have wasted my time as well. My gaze has always been and always will be fixed far above you, on the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars."   
"Your time is already wasted, Maeglin!" exclaimed Alassë. “She is married and has a child. She will never love you-"  
"What do you know about that, Wood-elf!" he shouted at her, his inky eyes alight. “Do you think that because you love me you already know what Love is? Love is something sublime, it gives you wings, it fills you with light, light like that of the Celebrindal, but what would you know? I am speaking to a simple Wood-Elf, a wild one who sits in the long shadows cast by the Calaquendi." He paused and his next words were cold and sharp and broke Alassë's heart into a thousand pieces that lay on the floor of her ribcage. “Understand this very well, Alassë, and let it be very clear to you: I did not love you; I never did, and I never will. My heart belongs to the Silverfoot. I never want to see your face again in my whole life. Get out."  
Alassë clearly felt something, something deep within her being split in two. She looked directly into Maeglin's black eyes and saw that they were filled with so much hatred it choked everything else. With a shattered soul, she ran out of the smithy.  
In her mad rush, she did not see the Elf coming her way, dressed in gold armor and a green cloak, and it was not until she collided with him that she even noticed his presence.   
"Parden me, are you alright?" he had asked her  
But Alassë did not want to give details, and she barely got by him without breaking down. She ran out to a lonely copse, where she had collapsed physically and spiritually exhausted.

***

"The King was once more pleased with the recruits," said Glorfindel said, pouring wine from a small brass jug and passing the chalice to Laura.   
They were sitting on the west wall, and Glorfindel had brought wine to celebrate, as Laura's recruits had finished their training, and each been assigned to different Houses. He would rather have been down in Tumladen, sitting among the grass, but he did know if Laura would be willing.   
"Fortunately," replied Laura, taking the cup. "I would not like to lose my job."  
Glorfindel laughed. “Trust me, that will never happen, Maistalda. I know you don't care for compliments, but I have never met a trainer as skilled you."   
Laura arched an eyebrow. "I'm only accepting it because it's a special day."   
The half-Vanya smiled. "How kind of you, Maistalda. When will you start your next group?"   
"Maybe next week," she said indifferently. "I need to start rounding up the next batch of masochists."   
"Not masochists," Glorfindel answered patiently. "Remember-"  
"That this isn't the Facility?" the young woman interrupted him, annoyed. "Believe it or not, I know. You've told me several times, Blondie."  
Glorfindel took a deep breath. He still loathed the nickname, although he knew that Laura only used it when something he had said deeply bothered her.  
“Look,” Laura continued in a gentler tone. “You don't have to remind me. I am here to train soldiers, not assassins.”  
The Elf-lord raised an eyebrow in surprise and smiled. "Cheers to the soldier trainer," he said, raising his glass.   
"Cheers," Laura answered, clinking her cup with his. "That's the first time someone gave me a toast."   
"Perhaps because nobody had realized all the potential you, Maistalda."  
Laura looked at him for a moment. The word 'experiment' crossed her mind, but a louder voice shouting Wilwarinda completely silenced that previous voice, causing her to say, "Probably." She took a sip then put her cup down so he would not see her hand was shaking. That moment had been so difficult......but it had felt so good! Glorfindel, who had learned to know her throughout all these years, smiled and placed his glass next to her. She looked at them curiously. "There's a very interesting game in America involving cups," she said. "You put a coin inside two identical cups, then shuffle them around. Then you guess which cup the coin is in. It was something they used to do-" She broke off suddenly, her sentence splintering under the weight of the word 'Facility'. "I think it would be a good idea to add it to training. It would help the recruits learn to pay attention," she ended suddenly.   
There was a wind-whispered silence, and then Laura murmured. "It's not easy."   
"I know, Maistalda," Glorfindel said, looking at her with adoring eyes.   
"All my life I've always considered myself as an 'experiment'," she said with a burst of feeling. "I know if you think about logically, I'm a completely different person, but it's still so hard. I'm trying my best......I just don't want to hurt you again."   
Glorfindel was deeply moved. The woman was opening little by little, like prying an oyster open, but inside there was a pearl of great price. He took one of her hands and began to caress her knuckles, just where the claws were. Laura shivered and closed her eyes.   
"Do not call yourself an 'experiment' again and we can both be very happy, Maistalda," he said softly.  
Laura opened her eyes. "Happy?" she asked, her face asking for an explanation.   
"Yes, happy," he replied. "Just keep trying, Maistalda."   
Laura looked down, at his hand where it covered hers. "I guess so," she murmured. "I guess I'm Wilwarinda after all "  
Hearing this, Glorfindel nearly kissed Laura. Yes, some day soon they would be very happy.


	60. Remember, remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sad story of Húrin banned the entrance to Gondolin, but not only that but also the sad ending of a nice character that shouldn't have had that terrible end... both because of Maeglin.

Chapter 60: Remember, Remember 

"'Turgon, Turgon, remember the Fens of Serech! O Turgon, will you not hear in your hidden halls?"  
They stood above on the craggy bastions, their faces grim and chiseled from stone.   
Below them, outside the silent cliffs of the Echoriath, stood Húrin, and he was old, withered, and grey, the Westering sun staining his white hair with blood. His great voice echoed, reverberating around the natural amphitheater, the echoes condemning ghosts. Remember the Fens, Remember the Fens, Turgon, Turgon, Remember the Fens of Serech!  
But the only sound was the wind in the dried grasses, and the mournful rattling was carried up to the gates where the watchers stood. And then the sun set behind the Mountains of Shadow, and darkness fell, and the wind ceased, and there was silence in the waste. 

***

"What is this, my Lord? Let him in!" Tuor said, his voice a constricted whisper. In the falling gloom, his blue eyes were made brighter by a sheen of tears.   
Turgon shook his head slowly.   
On the other side of the King Duilin spoke up. "My Lord, if he continues shouting like this the damage will be done."   
"You cannot deny him aid!" Tuor broke in. "He sacrificed everything for you! Through some miracle, he is still alive and comes to the only place he has known peace and you deny him entry? Turgon, open the gates!"   
"And if it is a trap?" Maeglin's voice came soft, and he emerged from the deeper shadows like a black cat. "The Unnamed One has a reason behind every movement. How can we be sure that the man has not led spies to this place, and they are waiting for us to reveal the city."   
"It has been twenty-eight years since the Battle, and no one heard ought of him," Egalmoth said reluctantly.  
"News come slowly to this city," Glorfindel returned. The pain and despair in Húrin's voice had sunk its teeth into his heart.   
"Indeed," Galdor the Gentle agreed, eager to give others the benefit of the doubt. "He probably has been in hiding these years."   
Maeglin's voice, dulcetly persuasive, overrode their arguments effortlessly. "Or as is more likely, he was taken prisoner by the Nameless One and corrupted and broken by black arts. Now he seeks to bring down the Wrath of the Dark One upon us."   
"Turgon," Tuor said, turning to the King. His voice was raw and pleading. "Turgon, remember the Fens of Serech! My father and uncle sacrificed everything so Gondolin could remain one last bastion of hope. Hope for good, Turgon. And yet you leave this man to die? How could you let so many deaths go in vain?"   
"I remember the Fens of Serech," the King said, and his voice was cold like a stab of ice. "I was there, Tuor, lest you forget. I fought at the Fens while you were still latched onto your mother's breast. I know the sacrifice. But I would rather have one man's blood on my hands, then be bathed in the blood a city."   
"Maybe you will have the blood of all on your hands," Tuor said, his jaw set.  
Turgon turned on his son-in-law like an enraged lion, and in the darkness, no one saw Maeglin's gloating, bitter smile. "I know what you would have me do, Ulmondil! You would have me take my people to the Havens, losing many along the way, and when we arrived, what then? Mourn there forever, a shadow-haunted people dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? I know of your sea-longing and I will not sacrifice Gondolin to it."   
The King's anger dominated the walls like a change of light but Tuor did not shrink. "When does a fortress become a prison?" he demanded of the Elf-King. "None may go in or come out of this place. It is a pretty jail cell you made, Turgon, but a jail cell none the less."   
"Do not forget that I took you in and made you a Lord. I doubt any jailkeeper would have given you such honors," Turgon said, his eyes glittering, radiating a huge and definite power. "And you may be a Lord, husband of my child and father of my grandchild, but I am your King, Master Tuor."   
There was an icy silence, bitter as wormwood. At last, Tuor bowed slowly. "As you wish, my Lord," he said, and was gone down the stairs. 

***

The stars were sharp and clear, the night long and cold under the heel of the Swordsman in the Sky, Menelvagor.   
Turgon stood alone on the walls. The other Lords had left many hours ago, understanding their sovereign's desire to be alone. He found himself drifting through pools of sensation, three-dimensional cat cradles of unwanted remembrance. The screams of the dying blew a hurricane through his thoughts, and the wings of crows, so many they blackened the sky, flapped through his mind. He buried his head in his hands.   
He had been battle-hardened by the time of Nírnaeth Arnoediad, but all who lived through that had been scarred. He could see the lingering shadows of war and death behind their eyes and knew he carried that aura too. There had been no welcoming feast or fanfare when his army returned, but Gondolin had mourned for a year, and even now, decades after, he still saw clusters of candles, burning in memory of the fallen.   
Gondolin had survived through because the Men of Dor-lómin had sacrificed it all. And Húrin had been tortured for twenty-eight years, somehow surviving.   
Turgon raised his head, looking at the stars. They seemed less sharp now, blurred and distorted as if he was viewing them through a prism. With a jolt, he realized he had been crying. He reached to wipe the tears away, but a voice stopped him.   
"There is no shame in tears," Tuor said, standing beside Turgon and looking out.   
"No shame," Turgon agreed, noting the telltale marks on the man's own face. "I only wish I could spare you them."   
"And I you," Tuor said simply. He turned to face Turgon, and his eyes showed his untarnished spirit, which could only inspire love and allegiance. "If I had not had a wife and son within these walls, I would have joined my uncle, despite your orders."   
"As you should have," Turgon returned, never taking his eyes off the night. "But you have a wife and child, so you stay."   
"May I make a plea for Húrin?" Tuor asked.   
"Yes. But what Maeglin said is what I will say."   
"What Maeglin said is wrong," Tuor returned, knowing he was entering dangerous ground. Although he had joined the Council, Maeglin still had greater sway over the King, and overthrew each of Tuor's ideas, nipping them in the bud with chilling ease and accuracy.   
The King turned and aimed his gaze at the man, his manner cooling, but Tuor dared to continue. "What would Maeglin say if that was his mother out there?"  
"Aredhel was not captured by the Unnamed," Turgon replied, his words frigid and precise.   
"No, my Lord, but both she and the Dark Elf were accepted into the city. And if you would show mercy to one like Eöl, where is the mercy of a man like Húrin?"   
"Times have changed," Turgon replied, but he was thoughtful now.   
"And they always will," Tuor continued. "My Lord, you are playing a dangerous game, and the stakes are inestimably high. All you can do is roll the dice and calculate what risks are worth taking."   
This time a thin smile warmed Turgon's face. "You speak like a man who has been burned before, son."   
"There is fire aplenty out there, more than enough to mark us all."   
Turgon nodded slowly. "The hurts of this world run very deep. All I can do is pay my debt."   
"Then you will bring him in?" Tuor asked, his eyes wide and solemn and trusting.   
"Yes," Turgon said. "I will. Now go back to your wife and son. Give them my love---all of it."   
When Tuor was gone, Turgon began the slow climb, scaling the craggy heights until he was Thorondor's Aerie. In the darkness, the roosting eagles were huge shadows, with glinting golden eyes and beaks. At Turgon's behest, they left their nest eagerly, beating wings stirring up a great wind. Yet even the keen-eyed Thorondor and his kin could not find Húrin, no matter how far they flew.   
For Húrin had gone to find Morwen, and when Morwen was no more, he sought out the last thing he had, which was death. And like Niënor Níniel, the daughter he never saw, Húrin found his peace in the arms of water. 

***

Glorfindel held up his jewel to the lamp, giving it one last careful appraisal. He wished Maeglin would bring some more lanterns in here, but, Glorfindel thought sourly, that would not sit right with his brooding, funereal appearance. He had been under Maeglin's grudging tutelage for several months now, and although he was no savant, he tried his best. Once his gift was finished, he intended to confess his love to the strange woman that had stolen his heart.   
Soft footsteps made him turn. It was Maeglin, entering the forge grumbling to himself. It was rare for the Prince to talk, even to himself.   
"Is something wrong?" Glorfindel asked him.  
"Why the sudden interest, Glorfindel?" asked the Prince, annoyed. "Since when are my problems important to you?"  
"Pardon my politeness," the half-Vanya retorted, offended at Maeglin's response. "But you are my teacher and helped me create my gift, so I was only trying to return the favor."   
Maeglin looked down at the necklace Glorfindel was holding, one eyebrow lifted ever so little. Compared to his work, Glorfindel's necklace was an eyesore, lacking in beauty and creativity. But there was something imbued in it that Maeglin sensed and hated, as if the forger had poured his love in with the hot metal.  
"Tell me, is it suitable?" Glorfindel asked, after a few minutes of holding the necklace up for the Prince's frigid scrutiny.   
In Maeglin's opinion, the thing should be melted down and remade, but he only said, "I suppose. And you must polish it. Have you chosen a jewel?"   
Glorfindel nodded, opening his other hand to reveal a set of exquisite emeralds, whose facets held both the rare dark green of pine and the sweeter color of newborn leaves.   
Maeglin shrugged and turned to his worktable, and the Lords worked in silence. After a while, Glorfindel heard Maeglin hiss, uttering a spate of curses that made the other stop his work and look up in surprise.   
"What is it?"   
"Nothing," Maeglin growled, not turning away from his work.   
"So that string of oaths was for nothing?"   
"Do you have a problem with me speaking in my own forge, Lord Glorfindel?"   
"No. But your evident ill temper is distracting. Are you bitter that the King went against you and sent for Húrin?"   
"Húrin was gone," Maeglin retorted. "So, it is a null matter."   
"It is not null to me. It was a cruel thing you did on the walls."   
"It was a necessary thing. Understand the difference."   
"No," Glorfindel returned. "It was cruel. And I do not understand why you spoke against Húrin but advocated for Laura."   
Maeglin turned, and there was something in his eyes that set Glorfindel on edge. They were black, smoldering eyes, holding a dark eddying stream of hatred. Glorfindel knew that Laura had abruptly ended her friendship with Maeglin but had never given him specifics, and he wondered if this hatred was directed at Laura or Húrin and his kin.  
"This is not the Council, Lord of Many Questions. This is where we work. So, finish your necklace or leave."   
"I-" Glorfindel began, but without further ado, the Prince was gone. 

***

Laura stood in front of the mound she had made in the spring, her arms crossed over her chest, her breath coming in hitches and gasps as she tried to control her emotions. The hardiest of autumn flowers bloomed one last time over the grave, reds and oranges, and dark purples. Then she gave up, and for the first time since she was a little girl, began to cry, in painful, lurching sobs. 

Flashback  
"What?!" Laura exclaimed in disbelief, shock, and outrage coloring her cheeks pink.   
She had not seen Alassë for several days and had not seen her at the Market. After exhaustive searching, she had finally found the elleth and been stunned at her transformation. The bright, laughing girl she had known was gone, she was pale and faded, like a plucked flower. Laura had shepherded the elleth back to her house and sat her down in the garden before she was told the tragic story.   
"Don't think about, Alassë," Laura said tenderly, trying to imitate the Sinda's warmth by putting a hand on her shoulder. "Life has so many good things for you. You Elves have immortality at your fingertips."   
"No, Laura. You cannot understand when you have never had a broken heart."   
"Maybe not, but I understand unrequited love," Laura said firmly.   
A sparkle of interest rose in Alassë's exhausted eyes. "You?" she asked.   
"I'm in love with Lord Glorfindel," Laura confessed. "But as you can guess, it's not requited."   
For a moment, a shadow of Alassë's former self came and she hugged Laura impulsively. "Oh Laura, I am sorry. But at least you know your love is not requited. Maeglin made me believe he loved me. Then he broke my heart and ground it under his heel," she added bitterly.   
Laura kept her arms around the elleth. "Alassë," she said softly. "Maeglin is in love with his cousin. That is his only love."   
"So, I see. But he told me he 'believed' he loved me, he even kissed me. And then he turns on me! And he loves the Celebrindal! It seems we both will understand unreturned love," she added with a bitter satisfaction that Laura had never heard in her voice before.   
"Then you won't go back to him?" Laura said, relieved. "That's a good decision, Alassë. Good for you."   
"Why go back to Eöl's son?" she said, her voice falling small. "He is not twilight. He is the witching hour, no moon, and no stars."   
“It's okay, Alassë," Laura said soothingly, standing up. "Maybe this is for the best. Come on, let's get your mind off it. Help me tend my garden."   
Alassë shook her head, tears marking a trail down her cheeks, and Laura realized she had said the wrong thing, and winced. She crouched back down again, taking the Sinda's hands in her own, realizing how cold they were. "What is it, Alassë? You really like taking care of Nature. Let's forget Maeglin and focus on something worthwhile."   
"What things?" asked Alassë between sobs. "What is worthwhile when I am destroyed inside?"   
"Alassë, there is so much worthwhile," she began, but Alassë cut her off.   
"Laura, you cannot understand! There is no color to life! I gave myself all to Maeglin, I saved no part, not even for myself. It is all gone. Laura, I have no love for life anymore. I.......I want........I want to fade."   
Laura felt the blood drain from her face. "Alassë, that's nonsense," she said, taking the Elf by the shoulders. "Don't play Juliet when your Romeo is a worthless, moody emo Elf. You're the best person I've ever met, and you're very strong-"  
"No, Laura ... I don't want to know anything else about this life." Alassë rose and left, leaving Laura helpless, her hands dangling by her sides.   
End of flashback

***

With eidetic clarity, Laura remembered her desperate search for Alassë. She had never found her, although she spent every spare scrap of time looking, oscillating between the Lesser Market and the Sinda's house, hoping she would catch the elleth coming or going.   
She remembered the rising panic, fearing her friend had committed suicide. Finally realizing the elleth was not in Gondolin, she took Viento Nocturno, and spent her nights touring the Tumladen Valley. It was late one evening when her search finally paid off, and she saw a figure walking. Dismounting her mare and staying upwind to avoid detection, she came close enough to see it was Alassë.   
She remembered her well. The Elf was wearing a simple gown of green, made all the greener by the way it contrasted with her pale gold hair, which was loose and fine, and adorned with a wreath of white flowers. There were no tears on her face anymore, but there was no laughter either, and no spark. 

Flashback  
'"Alassë?" she called softly.   
Alassë did not turn, but she beckoned Laura, and the two walked in silence until they came to a small, enclosed meadow, where thousands of violets made a carpet for the gods. Violets flooded the ground in streams and torrents, eddying round the tree trunks, consolidating into pools, gushing out in a primal burst of beauty.   
Alassë knelt, smiling up at Laura, a bitter, sad smile that did not sit well in Laura's heart. She plucked a violet and lightly bruised the petal, and from it came a scent almost unbearably sweet, elusive, and faint and achingly beautiful. "Is it not strange?" she said, although to Laura it seemed she was speaking to herself. "We are immortal and yet so fragile, our souls as delicate as this flower, that today is and tomorrow as disappeared. We are the morning lilies, flowers in folk-song."   
"No, that's not true. You guys are tough."   
Alassë twirled the violet stem between her pale fingers. "I am so glad that you and Glorfindel are good friends," she said dreamily. "I hope your love will be returned."   
“Alassë, forget about Maeglin. He's not worth it," Laura returned.   
In response, the elleth smiled such a smile that Laura felt shivers run all over her back, as she understood why the Sinda had gone to this lonely, beautiful place.   
"Alassë-" she began, kneeling next to her.  
"Hush," her friend said softly, putting her hand on Laura's lips. " I made my choice and I made it poorly. But this choice is for the best. It will bring me the peace I need. Remember me only in our best moments when we were happy together."   
Alassë lay back among the flowers, her blond hair forming a nimbus around her head, and looked up at the stars.  
"Are they not beautiful, Laura? They were the first thing our ancestors saw when they woke." She turned her head to the woman. "Do not be sad, Laura Kinney," she said sweetly. "Only promise me something. Go out into Tumladen with Lord Glorfindel and see the stars. You will both find the magic they have in them." She paused and took Laura's hand, saying in a barely audible voice, "You have been a good friend, Laura. Never forget that."   
She smiled faintly, looked at the stars for one last minute, and then closed her eyes, never to open them again.  
End of flashback

***

Laura had knelt by Alassë's side for hours, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, she began to shake Alassë, calling for her to wake up, but it was to no avail.   
Dawn was breaking in the sky when she had, at last, laid the last piece of sod on, smoothing it tenderly into the barrow. She stared at it for a long time, the simple mound of earth, stones, and flowers that was Alassë's tomb, that sweet Sinda whose heart of gold Maeglin had broken.   
She had clenched her fists, her claws coming out, vowing to be done with Maeglin. Whatever scraps of friendships still existed between them was now gone for good. She could not be friends with a murderer.


	61. Run, boy, run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tells the moment when Maeglin is made prisoner and which eventually will make him betray Gondolin. The last notes are of my beta, Celridel.  
> Also there will be another plots like Laura's ending her friendship with Lord Maeglin.

Chapter 61: Run, Boy, Run 

FA 509  
The Fëanorian lamp illuminated the dark cavern, throwing a fairy ring of blue light. Straddling the edge of this light was Maeglin, driving a wedge under a massive boulder. He was deep in the bones of the earth, outside the Echoriath in a hidden tunnel of his own making. He had bled Anghabar dry of all its ores and had no intention of digging for scraps. Instead, he had followed a rich vein of silver out and under the Encircling Mountains, cleverly concealing the entrance to avoid Turgon's wrath. He liked it down in the tunnels and hidden ways of the earth, where the darkness was rich and primal, and he was the only light-bringer.   
He forced a wedge and shim into the groove he had chiseled, then brought down his hammer with careful, deliberate blows, pausing to let the boulder react to the pressure. Like living things, stones could grow accustomed to nearly anything, given time. Until the final blow, that was. Maeglin swung again, and the boulder split. He laid down his hammer and examined the pieces, grinning as he noted chunks of silver ore as big as plover egg.   
Then a glint of yellow green caught his eye. He caught up the lamp from its ledge and peered closer, feeling apprehension pinch his guts for the first time. It was a deposit of peridot. He must be far deeper than he realized.   
Maeglin straightened, adrenaline sharpening his senses to a razor edge. A draft of stale air blew up, and he stepped over the cracked boulder, holding the lamp in front of him. His footing slipped on the narrow ledge, and only his uncanny balance saved him from a fall.   
About two ells below him he saw another tunnel, this one more crudely made. The air was more than stale, it was putrid with the smell of rotting flesh and unwashed bodies.   
Understanding widened his eyes, but it was already too late. Amplified by the tunnel, he heard the stamping run of many feet, like the slapping of great hands on the stone. They had come. They had heard Hùrin’s cries---curse the man!  
Imminent danger had always crystallized his thoughts into a precise, icy lattice. He understood he could not run. They would see his tunnel and come to investigate, following it straight to Gondolin. Even if he blocked it up behind him with the boulder, they would still hear the noise and be put on guard.   
Maeglin sprang into action, moving like a madman. The lamp, made of slim chains, collapsed easily into his hand and he slid into his pouch. Then he stooped and seized either end of the boulder half he had just split. Tendons stood out on his face, his huge muscles bulging, and he gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. Finally, he had the boulder up, wedging it in so it blocked up his tunnel, and stuffing the cracks with smaller stones.   
He heard mumbling down the tunnel and knew they had heard the noise. Without waiting, he put his dagger between his teeth, seized his hammer, and dropped lightly down into the Orc tunnel.   
The stone under his feet was slimy and slick with some unknown substance, and the air was almost poisonous. The tunnel walls were rudely carved, but wide enough for four to run abreast.   
Maeglin darted down the tunnel, his light shoes making little noise. It was dark, save for an occasional red torch flaring at a turn or curve, but he could hear the Orc party growing closer. They were in their own haunts, nimble and well-fed, running quick as weasels in the dark. But he was a stranger, already weary, and he had to run hunched over, as the cavern roof was very low.   
There was no place for him to hide, no branching tunnels or crevasses large enough to conceal him.  
The fretwork of his thoughts was beginning to disintegrate under the weight of his fear.   
Run, boy, run. That was what his mother had said. He remembered the panic, how his hands had fumbled as he seized up Anguirel, and how they had fled into the night like thieves. He remembered the guilty weight of the priceless sword strapped to his back and wished he had with him now. Like a fool, he had left it in his lodgings, thinking it would hamper his mining.   
Nothing was the same, he realized. His mother was gone, the sword was gone, the boy that had fled into the shadowy, tree-twisted night of Nan Elmoth was gone too.   
Run, boy, run.  
The time for running was over.   
Maeglin put his back to the wall, the dagger still in his teeth, holding his hammer in both hands. An outcropping of rock helped hide him from view, and he stood still.   
He could hear them now, and to his surprise, found he could decipher the general meaning. It seemed to be a pidgin mix of coarsely pronounced and mangled Sindarin, intermingled with gutturally suggestive sounds. It was a brutal, hideous jargon, but at least Maeglin was able to understand it.   
He heard their muttering, aware that they smelled him, and they would be on the alert.   
The first Orc rounded the curve, and its bloodshot eyes barely had time to widen before Maeglin's hammer crashed down, smashing its skull like it was a rotting melon, the huge maul bedecked with blood and bits of brain.   
He was not so lucky with the second. It was wearing an iron helmet, and it yelled a warning before his second stroke finished it off.   
Then they came swarming around him, blackened scimitars and spears howling for blood.   
Maeglin brought his hammer smashing down again and again, until carcasses sprawled in a knee-deep pile around his legs, but the Orcs continued flooding in until he could not move, his arms pinioned to his sides by the swarming bodies.   
One of them spat in his face, a gobbet of phlegm mixed with fragments of rotting meat dripping down his cheek. Another held a blade to his throat, hissing, "I'll make you squeal, you bloody-handed Elf!"   
"There's no time to kill him properly," moaned a yellow-fanged Orc on Maeglin's left.   
"Enough!" A huge, gravelly voice snarled, and another Orc shouldered his way through the throng until he stood in front of Maeglin, nearly nose to nose. The Orc Chieftain's hair was pale as a bone, and he stood nearly Man-high, only slightly stooped. His eyes were yellow like the eyes of a cat, and a strange mark that Maeglin could not identify was tattooed on his right cheekbone, curling like a tail around his ear. He wore full armor of boiled leather with metal plates, a spiked helmet on his head, and a necklace of bleached fingerbones looped around his thick neck. Strips of serrated tissue hung down from his square jawline, a fleshy fringe.   
Maeglin stayed perfectly still as the Chieftain studied him. Finally, the Orc's lip curled to reveal filed fangs. "We ain’t killing him, boys."   
There was some cursing and scuffling among the ranks.   
"He killed Azga," a voice in the back ventured.   
"Azga was a fool," the Chieftain snarled back. "We don't find an Elven Lordling every day. Tie him."   
Clawed hands seized him in an iron grip. His hands were lashed behind his back and a noose made of coarse rope was put around his neck. He felt two Orcs get behind him and fall to quarreling over his sable jerkin, pulling at it until it ripped and his torso was left naked. The Orcs tore it off him and retreated, letting the Chieftain step up again.   
"Where yer from, maggot, eh?" he asked, his voice raspy and guttural as if his vocal cords had been strained by many screams.   
"Doriath," Maeglin said carefully. The Orc Chieftain slammed him against the wall so that the back of his skull ricocheted painfully of the stone.   
"Doriath's gone, maggot. It's under the bloody rule o’ the Bat now."   
Maeglin cursed inside, remembering Glorfindel's words that 'News travels slow.' He had not known Doriath was destroyed. "I escaped from Doriath," he said, his face cold and expressionless. "Now I am a wanderer."   
Again, he was slammed against the wall, and pain pounded through Maeglin's head. "Your clothes are made for a maggot wiv brass. And yer too well-fed to be a stray. A dog you are but not a stray one.” The Orc Chieftain kicked Maeglin in the kneecap with an iron-tipped boot, and it was all the Prince could do to keep from falling. “Lie to me again and I'll squeeze your eyeballs out, you miserable rat!" Then something flickered in the Chieftain’s urine-yellow eyes, a spark that boded no good for the Prince. He dropped Maeglin and the Elf slid against the wall, the last pale splinter of hope dying inside him as he read his interrogator's eyes.   
The Chieftain's face curved into a grin, his filed fangs glittering in the flickering torchlight. "You're the Prince!" He threw back his head, howling with grisly laughter. "Boys, we caught ourselves a bleeding Prince!" He jabbed Maeglin in the chest with a long, pointed fingernail, as if encouraging him to share the joke. "The Bat told Our Lord all about you. Her Ladyship was right talkative, she was." Again, Maeglin thought of the night they had fled Nan Elmoth, and how he had often looked up, thinking some winged nightmare was hovering above them, a fear that was dispelled as soon as the sun rose.   
Confused mutters came from the throng and the Chieftain turned. "No more stinking scout duty, that’s what it means, boys. We'll be sitting high and dry in Angband, eating roast meat for a year. Much man-flesh as you greedy louts want! We caught ourselves the Hidden City's Prince! Ya hoi!"   
There was a wild clamor babel of baying voices, hooting laughter, and loud cheers.   
"Ya hoi! Ya harri hoi!"   
The rope around Maeglin's neck was picked up and spears point pricked at his back, goading him on. The Orc regiment ran through the tunnel at a steady, relentless pace, gobbling up the miles until Maeglin was numb with exhaustion.   
He allowed his mind to slip free, until the sounds of hoarse singing and the pain that encompassed his body was only faint things, far away and unimportant.   
First, he thought of Idril. The Idril in his mind had no child or husband. She was a wild thing, made of jeweled light, lovely and utterly inimitable, a creature he must tame. He thought of Idril's many gifts that lay scattered on his workbench, unfinished now, and unfinished forever, in all likelihood. They were not so much attempts to gain her affection now, but an increasing desire to bind some of her light, to keep it with him like a talisman. He remembered one gift he had never been able to finish, sitting lonely in some dusty corner, and he thought of what had happened that day. 

Flashback  
'He turned the brooch over in his hands, admiring it. He rarely felt satisfied in his work, but this one sat right in his heart and hand. It was a penannular brooch, made from silver, set with extraordinary delicate filigree, consisting of spiral forms and interlaced patterns. On one end of the brooch was a pearl, pale and perfect, with a sheen like starlight on seafoam. On the other end was a circle of amber, polished smooth, glowing gold, so it seemed like the sun and the moon had been shrunk down and sat on either end of the ornament.  
He smiled at it, but the sound of footsteps quickly erased the expression off his face, and he looked up irritably, expecting Glorfindel, who had been coming more and more frequently to work on his gift.   
Instead, the black-haired woman stood framed in his smithy-doorway. "Laura," he said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "How kind of you to visit."   
"You goddamn murderer," she answered, her voice cold and emotionless.  
"I beg your pardon?" the Prince inquired blandly. "I have no idea what you mean."   
Laura stepped inside; her fists clenched into tight balls. "Then I'll refresh your memory since you don't have the decency to think of her. Alassë, our mutual friend, approached you. She was kind to you; she gave you everything without asking for anything in return and-"  
"Ah! So that is her spin on the story?" Maeglin interrupted. "And I suppose you believed her? I thought you were more insightful than that, Laura."   
"Yeah? Well, you know what else I thought? I thought you might actually be a good person, so that shows how insightful I am. You're not only ungrateful, but you're also a murderer."   
Maeglin laughed mockingly, and a spasm of anger passed quickly over Laura's face.  
"Murderer, aye? So, she told you she was going to fade, like the tragedienne she is."  
“She didn't just tell me, she did! I was there, you goddamn heartless bastard!" Laura shouted at him.   
The Prince looked at her for a moment and saw hatred in her green eyes. So another one hated him. That was no longer fresh news.   
"If she did, it is her fault," he replied, looking back down at his brooch. "She made the situation a tragedy and cast herself as the leading actress."   
In one quick gesture, Laura leaped forward, snatching the brooch from him and stomping it under her booted heel. "You disgust me," she hissed at him.   
She kicked the ruined brooch back at him: it scudded across the stone floor and he stopped it with the tip of his foot, his thin, handsome face going deathly white, a cold anger rising in him. "What do you know of disgust, Laura?" he asked. "How could you be disgusted by anything when you are one of the lowest life forms that ever crawled out of a midden heap?"  
"Why’s that? Because I'm a former assassin? I'm the picture of reform. I've achieved things you'll never achieve."   
"Oh? Pray do tell. Have you gained Glorfindel's love yet? He thinks he knows you, Laura, but trust me, once he sees your true self, he'll be repulsed. You think you can fool anyone? I know that your reform is nothing but a veneer to hide behind, to trick the world, just like Hwa-Yong was."   
Laura paled, but the voice that called Wilwarinda erased some of the sting. "No, Maeglin," she said coldly. "Change is real. I changed. I got friends. You've changed too, but the other way, and now you have nothing but victim syndrome and madness."   
"Save your pity for yourself, woman. I am a Prince, not one of Nature's miscarriages," he said, hoping to provoke her into attacking.   
Laura smiled dangerously. "No, you bastard," she replied. "I'm not going to kill you. As I said, I've changed for the better, but it looks like the acorn doesn't fall far from a Nan Elmoth tree."   
At that rage blazed in Maeglin's heart to a sudden fury, and he closed the distance between them in a single step.   
"Come on, you fucking bastard," Laura goaded through clenched teeth. "I want to see you're as good at fighting as you are with poisonous words."  
Maeglin raised his chin, taking a deep breath. He was not willing to do this. Not yet. "I see you have changed sides," he said coolly.   
"Right, because everyone hates you. They goddamn well should," Laura spat.   
The Prince studied her for a few minutes. His eyes matched the way he felt towards the world: dark and cold. The depths of his black eyes were pitless, like holes opened up in space, eldritch and distant. "Very well then, Laura Kinney. It is clear that we are no longer friends. The door is over there. Use it. And if I see you again, I will treat you the way I treat my foes. I will end you."  
"I'm looking forward to it, Prince," Laura said, making a mocking curtsey. And without further ado, she left. They would never see each other again at the smithy.  
End of flashback

Maeglin saw the brooch in his mind's eye. The framework had been bent, and the amber piece shattered. He could have salvaged the pearl, and he had intended to, for pearls were a rare currency in a landlocked city, but for some reason he never had. That brooch had sat on his workbench, a silent reminder of things he’d rather forget.   
He had not noticed any general change in the city's manner towards him, nor heard anything about Alassë. It seemed Laura had kept that tragedy to herself.   
The spear dug into his shoulder blades and he bit his lip to hide a groan, stumbling at the sudden force. An Orc jabbed a knife-handle into his back, just above the kidney, and the pain was excruciating and deep.   
His mind drifted back to Idril, like a lodestone swinging North. How remote she was, how far above his grasp, standing goddess-like on her plinth. If he wanted to have her, he would have to burn her pedestal down. And she would be his phoenix, his darling, his light-giver, and she would dance for him among the ashes....

***

"Again, again, again!" the little boy exclaimed, jumping on the bench in a burst of childish delight. He clapped his hand and giggled with joy. He was a handsome child, not as broad-shouldered as his father, but with eyes blue as the sea, hair the color of the summer sun, Gondolin’s own golden child. Ecthelion sat by his side, dressed in grey breeches and a blue tunic besprent with diamonds that looked like drops of morning dew. His eyes gleamed with joy, and he held a silver flute in his hands.   
"Velindo, play it again, pleaaaaase?" Eärendil begged, smiling at the Elf-Lord with the smile only a happy child can have.  
Ecthelion laughed, the child's exuberance giving him a new love for life. How much the Princess's son reminded him of his little Lindil! Those childish gestures, the insatiable love for music, the pleading smile, the wheedling ways.  
"No, my little one. Amil is going to come and scold me for letting your stay awake past your bedtime?"   
Eärendil shook his head solemnly. "No, amil will not know. It will be a secret, Velindo."   
"A secret, aye?" Ecthelion, pretending to be thoughtful. "And what secret would that be?"  
Eärendil gestured with childish seriousness for the Elf-Lord to lean close. "We will not tell amil," he whispered in Ecthelion's ear. "We will stay up all night long and you will teach me to whistle. So go on, go on, go on, Velindo!" he added so loudly that Ecthelion jerked his head away.  
"Very well," he answered gravely, rubbing his leaf-shaped and sadly abused ear. "But on one condition."  
Eärendil stared at him questioningly, eyes rund. And before the little prince could say or do anything, Ecthelion took him in his arms and began to tickle him. The peredhel's laughter rung in the main garden of the palace. Once he was on his feet, the Elf-lord began to toss the little boy into the air, which made Eärendil laugh harder.  
"I see you two are having a good time," a female voice said.   
Elf-lord and Elfling turned to see the Princess, standing in the entrance, a smile on her lips.   
"Ah! Pardon me, Silverfoot," Ecthelion said, the little boy squirming in his arms. "But Eärendil must fulfill his promise if he wants me to teach him to whistle tomorrow."   
"Not tomorrow, today! Today! Today!" exclaimed the boy.   
Idril smiled. "No, my son, is it tonight, and night is the is time for sleep."   
"I'm not sleepy, amil! Right, Velindo?" the little prince protested.   
In response, Ecthelion began to sing, and his silver voice seemed to intertwine with the moonlight, bringing serenity.   
"I see the moon, the moon sees me  
Shining through the leaves of the old oak tree  
It shines in my arms, on the one I love  
Who I love more than the stars above. 

I hear the nightingale, the nightingale hears me  
Singing from the leaves of the old oak tree  
It sings to me; it sings to the one I adore   
Who I will love more and more."   
By the first verse, Eärendil's breathing had begun to come slow and steady and when Ecthelion was done, the boy was fast asleep. Carefully, he gave the sleeping child to Idril, whose blue eyes were grateful and misty with tears, like a field of bluebells after rain.   
Ecthelion smiled back at her, feeling his heart sing with joy. If he could string a necklace of memories, he would take this happy one and put it so it would sit over his heart. Carefully, he smoothed back the boy's curls from his eyes. "He reminds of a little Elfling I knew many centuries ago," he said.   
Idril shifted the child, hugging Ecthelion with a free hand. The Elf-Lord returned the embrace, although it surprised him. It was not common for the Princess to offer such displays of affection.  
“Ecthelion, there is no better person Eärendil could be with," she said fondly. "If I had to choose who would care for my little one, it would be a difficult decision between my Atar and you, Velindo."   
Ecthelion's eyes were soft and grateful. "That means a great deal to me, little Lindil," he said, leaning to kiss her forehead like he had when she was an Elfchild.   
Idril smiled and Eärendil shifted in his mother's arms.   
"I best take him to his bed," said the Princess softly "Thank you very much for spending time with him"  
"Always a pleasure, Lindil," replied the Lord of the Fountains.  
She smiled again and walked away with her sleeping son in her arms. Ecthelion stayed still, lit by moonlight, so engrossed thoughts and memories that the voice of his dearest friend startled him.  
"What are you thinking, Ecthelion?"  
The Noldo turned to see Glorfindel. The half-Vanya's long golden hair was loose, and he nodded cheerfully towards Ecthelion. "Is this the time for happy memories or sad ones?" Glorfindel continued, seeing Ecthelion did not answer.   
Lord Ecthelion smiled. All his memories of Idril were happy. Seeing the smile, Glorfindel dangled the necklace in his hand, showing to his friend. "What do you think?"   
The Noldo took it from Glorfindel and examined it carefully. It was a simple chain necklace made from platinum. The silver-white pendant, crafted from the same material, was shaped like a galloping horse, its mane and tail flying out behind it. On either end of the pendant was a lush green emerald, set in circles of silver.   
"It is a pretty piece, but I hardly think that the one who made it will be accepted by the House of the Mole," he replied, returning the jewel.   
"Hardly!" the half-Vanya said triumphantly. "I made this necklace."   
Ecthelion raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Forgive me, I did not know who the crafter was. When will you give it to her?"   
"In a few weeks. I have some finishing touches, but I wanted your opinion."   
"My opinion is that it is quite delightful. Why the horse?"   
"It is the animal she loves the most," Glorfindel said instantly. "And you should see how she skilled she is at horse-riding, Ecthelion. She is a true master!"   
Ecthelion smiled. "You are most assuredly in love, my friend."   
Glorfindel felt blood rush to his cheeks. Yes, he was deeply in love with Laura, he loved her now and he would love her to the end of time.   
"Do you think she will like it?" he asked shyly.   
The Noldo nodded slowly. "Glorfindel, you poured your heart into it. When you give it to her, do not give into platitudes or truisms. Speak the words that came from the very wellspring of your soul, and she will understand you." He nodded towards the necklace that shone in the palm of Glorfindel's hands. "You have some time to pluck up the courage. There are still some details you could refine."   
Glorfindel sighed. "I know, but I am not sure what to do."   
"Find Maeglin," Ecthelion suggested.   
"I have scoured the city, and I cannot find him," Glorfindel complained. "It is like he was been plucked off the face of the earth. If he does not appear soon, I will have to ask his second-in-command."   
Ecthelion raised his eyebrows. "Rnondro? He is a grim one."   
"Grim hardly covers it. He could kill a dragon with one glance."   
"Be patient," Ecthelion said, smiling. "Sooner or later Maeglin will materialize. It is not as though he has left Gondolin."   
Glorfindel sighed. "As usual, you are right. Ecthelion, will you do one thing for me?"   
"Ask away, my friend."   
"Pray for me, so that she will accept my affections," Glorfindel said, his eyes blue and liquid in the moonlight.   
In response, Lord Ecthelion smiled at him.

*Note by Celridel:  
I know that Orcs have their own language, derived from Westron, but since Westron doesn't come into play until the Númenoreans come around, and since Orcs are corrupted Elves, I imagine that they would use their previous language until Westron becomes the Common Tongue. :)   
P.S. Also, tattoos have been around since Neolithic times, so I don't think it's an anomaly to put them in Tolkien's world.


	62. By the prickling of my thumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Maeglin has returned without any suspicion but only three have it. Who are them?   
> And the famous Idri'ls passageway will start being made.

Chapter 62: By the Pricking of My Thumbs 

FA 509, December 

Lord Maeglin's POV  
'I have learned, that like love, darkness is relative. I looked into Nothing and I saw Chaos, things untouched by the Song, and even a glance can bend the mind forever.  
Like any hunted animal, I was smitten in my weakest place. I was made a ghost to go back out into the world to do what the living would never do, sent like a gray wraith to live what days I have beneath the light, and pretend I see my shadow.  
Outwardly unmarked, I returned to indifferent eyes and mouths that asked questions and did not care for the answers.  
When fire and steel come to arrest the destiny of Gondolin, I will not weep. Nor laugh. I will take my terrible gift, take it with both hands when it comes.  
Fate has sunk its hooks into all our jaws. What will be, will be. I only played my single note to completion, I did not compose the melody.  
Gondolin will be unlived. Gods tossed souls like small bones and read what was written in them when they fell. The rape of the city was foretold. So, it is written in the scars in my heart, the ones that are carved immutably deep.  
He will delight---He, the Scourge, the Pursuer, the Nameless for we have no comprehension of true darkness, and thus cannot name it. He no longer looks at the stars. They are the inert tokens of a defeated people, how could they spell his defeat?  
Turgon seeks to gather all the light to him, to hoard it like a dragon hoards gold. But that cannot be. Call me madman, call me traitor if you would. Yet without darkness, you could never see the stars. 

***

The Prince's absence had been unremarked except by the Court. His lieutenant ruled the House of the Mole so that Maeglin could devote his life to metallurgy, and the Prince often spent weeks oscillating between his mines and his smithy, ignoring the rest of Gondolin.  
After a month had trickled by, Turgon began to grow concerned, but that concern soon evanesced when Maeglin appeared one day for the morning meal, which he seldom participated in.  
The others were already seated when the Prince came in. There was no place set for him, so he helped himself a persimmon, the December apple, and sat down in his customary chair, to the right of Turgon.  
The King reached over and gently squeezed the younger Elf's shoulder. "We have missed you, Maeglin. Where have you been?"  
"Deep in the mines, in an artistic frenzy," Maeglin said, smiling. "You must forgive my rudeness, Uncle, but inspiration is fleeting, and I wanted to make the most of it."  
Turgon returned the smile, seeming to fill with happiness at Maeglin's sudden talkativeness, like a bowl filling with wine. "Of course. Like you were with the Seventh Gate. You nearly fainted from exhaustion several times, and Elenmakil had to all but drag you away."  
"Yes, rather like that," Maeglin agreed. "Elenmakil has given me nothing but grief since then," he added, quirking an eyebrow. "He still grumbles about playing the royal nursemaid."  
The King laughed, and Eärendil joined his grandfather's laugh, although Tuor and Idril stayed silent. Maeglin turned his gaze to the boy, still smiling. "Good morning there, little Master."  
Eärendil, delighted with the sudden attention from his uncle, grinned back across the table. "Good morning, Uncle Maeglin. I'm glad you're having breakfast with us."  
"So am I," Maeglin agreed, taking another bite of his permission.  
"I will be five years in January," the boy announced.  
Maeglin raised his eyebrows. "Five years is a fine age."  
Eärendil fidgeted in his chair. "Would you make me a gift, Uncle Maeglin?" he asked shyly.  
The Prince smiled. "Indeed I will. But you must tell me what you want. I am no mind-reader."  
Eärendil seemed fit to burst with delight. "Will you make me a sword, Uncle Maeglin? I would like a sword."  
"Of course. A great warrior like you needs a trusty blade," Maeglin said heartily. "But only with your Mother's permission."  
Both pairs of eyes turned to Idril. The Princess had been sitting silently, watching her son being charmed by Maeglin, and she saw it like a baby bird being fascinated by a coiled snake. Beyond her gift of clairvoyance, she had an intelligence that was unrivaled in Gondolin and was unimpressed by Maeglin's alibi, however thickly he slathered his tone with verisimilitude. "If it is not too much trouble," she agreed with a dazzling smile, and only Tuor noted how cold it was, like sunlight bouncing off a sheet of ice.  
Maeglin grinned back. "None at all. Eärendil, give me your serviette."  
The boy eagerly pushed the unused square of linen across the table, and Maeglin produced a stick of charcoal from his pocket, sketching on the cloth. He pushed it back to Eärendil. "Now tell me what design catches your eye. A rapier, a saber, a two-handed sword-"  
"This one!" Eärendil exclaimed, nearly bouncing in his seat with glee.  
"You have a good eye," Maeglin agreed. "A rapier it will be, made from damascened steel. You will not be able to get one like it for love or money." He laid a finger to his lips and winked at Eärendil. "Remember, you do not know a thing. This is a surprise!"  
Eärendil nodded eagerly, his golden curls bouncing on his forehead. "I do not know a thing!"  
Maeglin pushed back his chair and rose gracefully. "Uncle, cousin, Tuor, Eärendil," he said, nodding to each in turn. "If you will pardon me for being such a boor, I think I will leave you now."  
Soon after, Idril finished her meal and excused herself, leaving the three she loved the most in the dining room.  
She walked quietly, gathering her skirts about her so the swishing would not give her away, and after a minute of searching, found Maeglin in the glass corridor that connected the East Wing of the Palace to the West. He stood so that winter sun was to his right, turning his hand over and over, absorbed in what he was doing.  
"What are you looking for, Maeglin?" she asked quietly, stopping an arms-reach away from him.  
He did not seem surprised or even taken-aback by her proximity, nor did he look up. "Once upon a time," he replied quietly. "I heard that the shadow is your soul."  
Idril pointed to the flickering shadow of his hand, splayed out on the pale pink quartz floor. "Your shadow is there."  
His gaze followed her finger, but she did not think he saw anything there. He dropped his hands by his side and turned to look at her. For the first time, she saw how flat and dull his eyes were, as if they were not eyes, but the coins Men sometimes put over the eyes of the dead. "What are you doing here, Idril?" he said in a tone of soft rebuke. "After my first years in Gondolin, you have never willingly approached me."  
Idril felt an inkling of pity in her heart, although she could not identify its source. "I do not know why," she said truthfully. It was cold here, and the stone floor was frigid beneath her feet. She shivered a little.  
"How many tears did you cry for the Nírnaeth Arnoediad?" Maeglin asked suddenly. His face was impassive, mask-like, and unreadable.  
"Battle of Unnumbered Tears. I could not count. How many did you cry?"  
"None," he said, and suddenly he looked very old to Idril's eyes. "Tears came and burned in my eyes like magma, but they hardened there."  
"Can you cry, Maeglin? Would you cry for anything?" she queried.  
"I would cry for you, daughter of my mother's brother. Would you weep for me?"  
"I would weep for the passing of any life," Idril answered quietly.  
Maeglin studied her for a while, without the faintish flicker of desire in his eyes. "Then all is as it should be," he said finally. "Go back to your husband and child, Idril. Eärendil's gift will be finished by the end of this month."  
He did not wait for her response, walking down the corridor in long, confident strides. He bypassed his smithy, instead taking the path that led from the King's House to the training fields.  
He found Duilin and Glorfindel walking the opposite way and greeted them with a pleasant smile. "Good day to you, my Lords."  
The two stopped, looking at him with surprise, and in Duilin's case, wary eyes.  
"Good morning, Lord Maeglin," Glorfindel said. "You seem in quite a fine mood today."  
Maeglin gestured around, at the snow that stretched like a field of diamonds in the sun, pushed into ridges by a bracing wind. "Who would not be? I was merely on my way to the Training Square to see how the recruits are progressing. I hope I may see some new faces in my House."  
Duilin raised his eyebrows into cynical arches. "I thought you did not oversee your own House."  
Maeglin smiled, ignoring the Swallow's remark. Out of all the Elf-Lords, he hated Duilin most of all, but there was no need for an argument, not now, when a colder vengeance than his was already in motion. "Glorfindel," he said to the golden-haired Lord. "You must come by my smithy soon. I have found some things that might interest you."  
Duilin's eyebrows rose even higher. Glorfindel flushed, saying "Certainly, Lord Maeglin. I appreciate your kindness."  
"Excellent," Maeglin agreed. "Now pardon me, my Lords. I am going to speak to the trainer."  
Once the dark-haired Elf was a ways down the path, Duilin turned to Glorfindel. "Elaborate."  
"On what?" Glorfindel protested, feigning innocence. "On the Prince's changed demeanor?"  
"Don't play the fool, Glorfindel, even if you do it rather well," Duilin retorted. "You are taking up metallurgy?"  
"Well.......yes," the half-Vanya faltered. "Not for long. I just needed to make something......for somebody," he ended weakly.  
Duilin grinned. "Practice your lying, Glorfindel, you’re no good at it. So, you too have fallen from the bachelor ranks."  
"Hush!" Glorfindel said. "This is a secret between you and me, understand? Woe to you if you let it slip."  
"Friend, you don't have to threaten me. But I will tell you something Egalmoth told me when I met my wife: 'Love is something you cannot hide,'" Duilin replied.  
The half-Vanya was about to answer when an angry shout shattered the glassy winter silence.  
"You goddamn Judas!"  
***

Maeglin had approached Laura, who was watching her recruits with folded arms.  
She kept her eyes on the trainees, her voice calm and emotionless, stone-cold. "Get lost, Maeglin. It's too late to apologize."  
"I am not coming for forgiveness," Maeglin said civilly. "I only wanted to hold a conversation with you."  
Laura tapped her fingers on her elbow impatiently. "Is this going to take long?" she said cuttingly. "Do you want to see if your venomous words work on me as well as they worked on Alassë? If so, get to the point. I can't stand your presence for long."  
"Others seem to stand it remarkably well."  
For the first time, she turned to look at him. His face was pleasant, but there was nothing else there. "Why the big act?" she spat. "People like you don't change without miracles."  
"Perhaps it was a miracle."  
"Sure. You had a revelation in the mines?" she mocked. "Who appeared to you? Manwë? Ulmo? Or was it someone more your type? Maybe someone who lives up North?"  
Maeglin's quiet eyes did not flicker, but Laura felt a giant hand reaching around her heart, crushing it with an iron grasp. In those quiet dark eyes, she had found the truth, a truth that would have consequences greater than one could even imagine, and it siphoned dread into her veins.  
"You goddamn Judas!" she screamed at him. 

***

When Glorfindel and Duilin came running, Laura had knocked the unresisting Prince to the ground. She was kneeling on his chest, her hands wrapped around his throat, throttling him.  
"Laura, enough!" Glorfindel cried, horrified.  
Duilin, quicker and far more pragmatic, buried one hand in Laura's hair, grabbed the collar of her tunic in the other, and hauled her off the Prince.  
"Let me go!" Laura screamed at him. "This fucking murderous bastard betrayed us all!"  
Duilin shook her hard. "Enough, woman! You have already brought enough on your head. I'm taking you to the King."  
"No," Glorfindel interjected. "Duilin, let me talk to her. You stay with the recruits."  
With a grimace, Duilin pushed Laura away from him and crouched on his heels beside Maeglin's prostrate form. The Elf's face was nearly purple, livid marks already beginning to stand out on his throat. He choked in huge, hoarse breaths.  
"You reek of treason, you fucking bastard! You murderer of innocents!" Laura screamed back, as Glorfindel guided her away from the Training Square.  
Duilin helped the young Prince sit up.  
"How's your throat?" he inquired compassionately.  
Maeglin shook his head as a fit of violent, lung-tearing coughing overtook him. After a minute, he spat blood into the packed snow, and said in a hoarse voice, "It has seen better days. Thank you for your concern."  
"On your feet. We'll find Glorfindel and Laura and take you to the King."  
Maeglin shook his head again, holding up a hand. "No need, Lord Duilin." He struggled painfully to his feet, holding his head for a minute as the blood rushed to it. "Her past has made her paranoid.......irrationally suspicious. Please do not tell the King. There is no point in being punished for something that was not her fault." He walked away, leaving Duilin amazed.  
Finally, the Swallow turned and clapped his hands loudly. "Not a single word of this!" he shouted commandingly to the field of recruits. "Carry on with your exercises!" 

***

"What was that?!" Glorfindel said furiously. He had dragged her to the outskirts of the city, where they were alone, knowing that the fewer people heard of this, the better. "Do you understand that you tried to kill the Prince of Gondolin! The King's nephew!"  
"He's a fucking traitor! He's a killer!" Laura shouted back.  
Glorfindel took a deep breath and held it, then let it go, watching it plume out in the frosty air. Then he took one of Laura's hands in his. "Maistalda, I do not understand."  
But Laura snatched her hand away, her green eyes filled with rage again.  
"Do you want to know why I call him that?" she challenged. "Come on, let's get our horses and I'll show you." 

***

Laura and Lord Glorfindel dismounted on the edge of the grove. The snow had turned Alassë's gravesite into a fairy-tale world, making everything unrecognizably beautiful. It wrapped the place in a perfect blanket, and the only variation in the white landscape was a bouquet of pale pink hellebore, placed carefully in the center of the copse.  
"Do you know what this is?" Laura demanded.  
Glorfindel shook his head.  
"It's Alassë's tomb," she said, her voice becoming choked.  
"The tomb of your friend?" Glorfindel repeated without understanding.  
"Yes, the tomb of my friend. Alassë loved Lord Maeglin, loved with him all her heart. She taught him about emotions, what it is to feel, and how to say those feelings.......the same thing you taught me. The only difference is Alassë gave Maeglin her soul........and that motherfucker trampled it. He made her believe he loved her, he even kissed her, and then he broke her heart. Alassë faded. She died of grief and I had to bury her myself. So, tell me he's not a goddamn murderous bastard."  
There was a long silence as Laura stared at the mound that was her friend's grave. Glorfindel looked at her. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and the snowflakes had melted into droplets on her eyelashes, dripping down and mixing with the tears on her cheeks. Some flakes clung to her straight black hair, and he realized how intensely he wanted to comfort her, to hold her and warm her with his body. Instead, he took one of her hands and caressed it with infinite tenderness. "I'm so sorry, Maistalda. I didn't know. He is a murderer, but that does not mean he is a bastard, or even less, a traitor."  
Laura snatched her hand away again, folding her arms over her chest as if to make doubly sure he wouldn't try to do it again. "He's a bastard. Maybe not by birth---I don't know the specifics, but he's a despicable person. He's a fucking traitor, just like his father."  
"And why do you think that?"  
"The last time I saw him, when I came to confront him on Alassë's death, he told me he would tear me to pieces if he saw me again. Now today he comes to have a conversation with me." Laura's jaw clenched. "I saw it in his eyes. Something happened in the mines, Glorfindel. He's found a way to chop us into dog meat."  
"Laura, that's hardly clinching proof," Glorfindel protested.  
"I'm not stupid, Glorfindel!" Laura replied angrily. "I was a spy my whole life. I know when someone lies. I can read a person like a fucking primer book, and I know Maeglin has betrayed our city."  
"Why?"  
Laura scoffed. "Why not? The Nameless One gets to take out the Noldor and Maeglin gets his revenge and his ultimate prize, the Princess."  
"Laura," Glorfindel said carefully. "Perhaps Maeglin has always followed the Princess, but I do not think he wants her as you suggest. We do not wed kin so near."  
"What do you think he wants her for, then! To play chess with? You are very innocent, Blondie."  
"Laura-"  
"Listen, Glorfindel. Even angels of light can sink very low. Maeglin is not an angel of light, but he can still have a long tumble into darkness." When seeing that the Elf-lord opened his mouth to refute her words, Laura raised her hand. "I see that you don't believe me, and I won't bother to try and convince you anymore. But I can tell you that Maeglin is a bastard, a traitor, and a murderer of innocents."  
She leaped nimbly back onto Viento Nocturno, but Glorfindel called her back.  
"Laura, I do not know what to think about this, but you cannot do what you did today again. Do you know what happened last time someone assaulted a member of the royal house? I cannot protect you from that.”  
“I heal myself, remember?”  
Glorfindel smiled grimly. “In the Council, you told the King that there was a way you could be killed. I am certain that after a few attempts, he would find that way.”  
Laura looked down at him, her mouth working. Finally, she replied coldly, "Okay. I promise to behave."  
Glorfindel drew another deep breath. He knew he could trust her promise.

***

Idril woke up screaming, the sheets beneath slick with her sweat. She struggled through thickets of fear, writhing in the tangled beddings, staring up into the atemporal darkness.  
Then calm hands were stripping away the cloth, holding her shoulders.  
"Idril. Idril, what is it?"  
Idril felt as if she was looking at her husband through the compound eye of a dragonfly, and in each eye was a different aspect of Tuor. She saw the child, waving goodbye to his mother, his eyes wide, solemn, uncomprehending. She saw a youth, his chin still untouched with the first hint of manhood, an iron collar around his neck, the whip of an overseer carving bloody crosses into the flesh of his back. She saw the young man, his beard frozen, trekking across a white wilderness. She saw a man standing on the shores of a grey-green sea, his golden hair wild, his face exalted, turning with the wheeling of the gulls. She saw the man that tossed her up into the air on their wedding night, spinning her around until they were both giddy and nearly sick with laughter. And she saw a charred corpse, a skeleton burned clean of flesh, the ring she had given him melted into a pool of gold beneath its blackened fingers.  
Idril's whimpers began to mount into a crescendoing wail. "Oh no no no no no Tuor no!"  
Tuor pressed her against his shoulder, muffling her cries, stroking her golden hair in smooth, tender gestures. "Idril, let me understand. Let me understand, darling."  
His golden beard was prickling her ear and the side of her face. It was good and right, and Idril felt her heartbeat slow. The terror trickled away, along with all her strength, and she slumped against him.  
Tuor held her tightly, still marveling how well her body fit against his as if they had been carved for each other, her curves matching his angles. "What is it, Idril?" he asked again. He had seen her pale eyes and knew this was more than a nightmare.  
She drew a long shuddering breath. "Go see if Eärendil is still sleeping, love. Let me gather my thoughts."  
Tuor did as she bid, getting up and going over to the bed by the window, where his son was. By some miracle, Eärendil was asleep, his face angelic in the light of the westering moon. He smiled lovingly, stroked his son's golden curls, and returned to Idril.  
He sat on the bed, feeling it dimple under his weight, taking her hands in his. They were cold and shaking as if with palsy.  
"I dreamed," Idril began, her voice low. "I dreamed that Gondolin was burning. I dreamed I ran through the streets calling for you, although I could not remember your face. I tripped over piles of corpses, and I beat away the carrion and I screamed your name, but you would not come to me. I saw dragons and I saw Balrogs. I saw orcs and trolls and wolves and other monsters, but they did not see me, for I was a dreamer still. I saw Gondolin become a sepulcher, our fear and hope and suffering buried beneath its crushed walls. There would be no resurrection."  
Tuor held his wife's hands tighter. "So, the Lord of the Deep has come to you in dreams since my message fell on stone ears."  
She nodded mutely, very beautiful in the dim moonlight.  
He sighed; his eyes downcast. "Great is the Fall of Gondolin," he repeated gloomily, remembering the words of the Northern Prophecy.  
Idril's hand left his grasp, taking his chin and pulling it towards her. "There are things to be done," she said, and he was inspired by the blue fire in her eyes.  
"What?" he whispered.  
"We need cunning before boldness. My father always thought if the Unnamed found this place, he would lay siege. That is why there are so many cisterns and reservoirs underneath the city. But there will be no siege. The Unnamed will throw the concentrated force of his servants in one blow. The cisterns will not be needed for water, but they can give us a way out. We dig," she said firmly. "We make a tunnel in our own house. Go under the Main Gate and through Amon Gwareth, out into Tumladen." Her eyes were blazing now, intense. "We do it, Tuor. We and the most trusted of your house. We tell no one else. No one!"  
"That is a long tunnel," he said slowly. "We will need advice in the building, Idril. Should we not ask Maeglin?"  
An expression of horror crossed Idril's face, and realization pierced Tuor as if with a blade.  
"No," she said. "No. My cousin has held the seeds of evil in his hands for many a year, and now he intends to sow them in his mother's land. We seek help from no one, especially from the House of the Mole. Maeglin gathers the grimmest and most battle-hardened of the Noldor in his House. Some--most---there are good of heart, but there are some less good. Do you understand me?"  
Tuor struggled to do so, to reconcile the idea that the Prince had betrayed Gondolin. "Are you certain, Idril?" he asked, but her eyes, white like seafoam, left no room for questions.  
He took her hand and kissed it. "Then so be it."


	63. If only you knew...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura will tell Lord Glorfindel a painful part of her past while Maeglin will entrust Lord Salgant about his treason against the city.

Chapter 63: If Only You Knew 

They lay side by side in the snow, unbothered by the cold, the only marker in the glittering crust of the crisp snow Laura's footprints. She had heeded Alassë's request and taken Glorfindel out into Tumladen where they could find the magic in the stars.   
"The stars hold the light of creation. Ele! Ele! our ancestors cried when they first woke, and thus their lives were woven into the fabric of the earth," Glorfindel said, his arms behind his head. "Even now, we are drawn to them."   
"So there's nothing more important to you than the stars?" Laura asked. The long purple twilight was drawing to its end, and the stars blazed overhead, like silver spearpoints.   
"No. There is the sea."   
"Because you woke up by the Waters of Cuivénen?"  
She could not see his face without turning her head, but Laura heard the drop in his voice.   
"No, Maistalda. In the sea, there lives yet an echo of the Music of the Ainur. We long for perfection, for the world to be untarnished, to be at one with the deep rhythm of Creation." He laughed, a deep, sighing sound. "Yet we found heaven to be stale."   
"I'm very sorry you can't go home," Laura said after a few minutes. "I know it must be difficult for you."   
"It was our own fault," Glorfindel replied. "We could have stayed, but we chose to follow another path. Now we pay the price of our rebellion."   
"But what about people who never rebelled? Like Eärendil? He's paying a debt he doesn't owe."   
"Perhaps they have a plan," Glorfindel said quietly. His breath plumed out like a feathery cloud, frozen on the still night air. "Perhaps one day they will arrange the stars to guide us home. But until now we stay here, stranded. And with us, our children."   
"That's very unfair."   
Glorfindel turned his head in the snow. "I remember once someone told me Life is not fair."   
Laura smiled slightly but kept her gaze on the night sky. It was safer that way. "You have a good memory, Glorfindel."   
"Are the stars important to your people?" Glorfindel asked.   
"There was a time. Some people believed that they were fire spirits, the eyes of the dead or the unborn, or even holes in the sky where God's light shone through. Then some people thought that they governed the destiny of men. Some people still do even though we know what our stars are."   
"Do you believe that stars control your destiny?" Glorfindel asked, surprised.   
Laura scoffed. "Of course not, but a lot of people buy into things called astrology and horoscopes. They believe that stars and constellations affect your life or personality. Obviously, that's scientifically impossible but.... people like believing they're not responsible."   
"You shape your own life," Glorfindel said firmly. "I cannot abide those who try and escape the consequences of their choices. To me, they seem like the worst kinds of cowards."   
Laura shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so. In my opinion, stars aren't anything thing more than something burning up, millions of light-years away."   
Glorfindel propped himself up on his elbow to look at her face. "It is true that stars do not rule the lives of Elves or Men, but they have magic, and now that you are here, you can find that magic in them."  
Laura smiled, her green eyes shining with the same light he had seen before, and his heart beat fast.  
"I would like to think there is magic somewhere," Laura exclaimed in a burst of feeling. "But I didn't feel any on Earth."  
The half-Vanya looked at her questioningly. He sensed there was something sad behind it all and he waited for her to finish.   
"They say that many things are magical. Like Love ... but I never found that magic, even though I looked."  
"I thought you were not interested in love," Glorfindel said.   
"Sorry I lied to you," she murmured, turning her head away so he could not see the tears that stung his eyes. "There was a time that it interested me extremely."   
"What happened, Maistalda?" he asked softly.  
Laura studied the stars, trying to swallow the bitter taste that came with those memories.   
Glorfindel sat up, his eyes concerned. "Maistalda?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he took the hand closest to him and began to caress her knuckles with his thumb. It seemed to be the thing that soothed her the most.   
"It's nothing, Glorfindel. It's a long time ago," she replied, shaking her head as if trying to drive away the memories."   
"If it hurts you, then saying it's nothing it's like grasping nettle and expecting the sting to go away. Tell me," he urged. "I will listen to you."   
Laura felt her chin tremble like she was a small child. This was so different from the dog-eat-dog world she had been born into. Glorfindel's quiet, unshakeable compassion had allowed her to have good thoughts, to build a better self. He had given her the cocoon in which to heal and would help her break it when her wings were ready. She loved him so deeply. She had never known she could love someone so much.   
"When the X-Men rescued me and took me to Mansion X, I was the Ugly Duckling. No one wanted to be my friend," she began slowly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "There were only two people who showed me any kindness. That was Professor Xavier, who offered me this new life, and Logan, who had an ability like mine. But I still felt very alone, until I met Remy, in a country called France. We worked together on a lot of missions. He had a very dark past and wasn't exactly moral, but he was understanding. Instead of judging me, he decided to be my friend and teach me things." She smiled, an expression made sweet with nostalgia, as memories played through her head like old movie reels, sepia-toned and priceless. "He was the first to celebrate my birthday. One day I went out to get food and when I got back, there was a cupcake with a candle stuck in it on the table. It said 'Happy Birthday, Petite' with frosting. That was the first time he called me that, and since then I have been his Petite, his little one. He was the one who showed me the song 'On Horseback.' He didn't give me the music, but he bought me the CD, just to see me smile."   
"And what happened with Remy?" Glorfindel inquired, smiling down at her.   
"We had to take different paths, but he walked with me as long as he could," she said. "Our friendship never died. 'I will never forget you, Petite, you have taught me many things' was his parting words to me. I never told him---although I know he knew it--but he also taught me many things." She paused for a moment, considering the night sky, tasting the words before she released them into the open air. "Thanks to Remy, I learned what friendship was.... but even though I was born an experiment, I am still human and I wanted to know what Love was. When Remy met Marie and fell in love with her, he told me how wonderful love is. He said it was a warm, comfortable feeling where you're completely satisfied with life, without any worries. He said it with such passion that since then I wanted to find who would love me, but.... that seemed pretty far-fetched. So, I resigned myself, until one day I met someone called Spike. He was too a mutant, who could cover his body with razor-sharp spikes and launch them like projectiles with deadly force. He was seemed interested in me and we became close. One day he finally declared his affections and said my past didn't matter. He was only interested in what I was and that he loved me. I believed him." She was crying openly now, her hands rhythmically clenching as if there was some violent solution to her pain. But Glorfindel was there, holding her hands, reaching into her soul with a delicate touch, like rain reaching into roses. She swallowed hard and continued.   
"We dated for a couple of months. He tried to make me laugh, and we did what sweethearts did. We spent time together, held hands, and he tried to get me to kiss him. But I didn't really want to. It felt like was I giving too much, too fast. And it turned out I was right because Spike was like Maeglin. They both use people for profit, and for Spike, that profit was winning a bet with other X-Men about bedding me," she ended viciously, her tears superseded by anger. "One day we argued because he wanted me to kiss him and I refused. He threatened to leave me, and I told him he promised to stay with me forever. Then he made fun of me and my past and told me that he never loved me, but if I wanted him to stay with me, I needed to go to bed with him."   
She started crying again. This time her sobs sounded small and helpless. "I wouldn't. Even though it meant losing him, I had enough respect to refuse. I wasn't just a toy, and if he couldn't accept that, he might as well go. We fought then. I almost killed him, but Logan stopped me. A month late, Remy came to find me in a pretty deplorable state. I was completely devastated that my so-called boyfriend had only spent time with me to win a bet about sleeping with me. Remy had no compassion with him."   
Glorfindel understood that Laura's friend had killed Spike.  
"Since then, I haven't wanted to learn anything more about love or boyfriends," Laura finished, struggling with the lie but saying it nonetheless.   
"Not even here? Where things are so different?" Glorfindel asked gently.   
Laura sat up, her black hair dusted with snow, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy with tears.   
"Glorfindel, who is going to love me here? If no one in my country could love me, why would beings of light, like you, love a person like me?" She shook her head. "My hands are so bloody that if I ever caught Love, I would stain it." She smiled with an effort, trying to make him smile back at her. "But at least I have your friendship, BFF, and that's more than I can ask for."   
Glorfindel did not return her smile. He closed her eyes and kissed her hand. Laura shivered at the sensation, luxuriating in the blissful, electric feeling. "How do you do it?" she whispered.   
"When we care for someone very deeply," he said slowly. "We become closer, not just in mind, but also in body. We become bonded."   
"Well, it's good to know you care for me," Laura smiled.  
"More than you, Maistalda."   
The woman looked at their linked hands. "Thanks for listening to me," she said after a few minutes. "I needed to talk about this, and you're the best listener around."   
Glorfindel smiled and kissed her hand again. It was like every warmth she had ever known---summer sun on her hair, warming her hands by a log fire, sipping mulled cider--becoming one, taking over her blood. There was something more there than affections between friends.... but love? No.   
She stood, brushing snowflakes off her clothes. "We better get back. I need to be ready for training."   
Glorfindel followed suit. "Laura," he said as she began to walk away. "One day you will find love. Have no doubts."   
She smiled incredulously over her shoulder. "I don't believe you," she said, "But I'll tell you what the Elves say: 'May the Válar listen to you'."  
And so they have, he thought, deciding that tomorrow night, he would give her the necklace. 

***

Maeglin with his back to the cold stone, his face tilted upward but his eyes were closed. Below him, he could hear members of his House moving slightly, leather squeaking, chainmail rattling as they stood guard at the First Gate. Bare blades swung against breeches. No one wore scabbards in winter; it was too cold, and the sword would freeze to the sheath.   
He imagined the sky in the eye of his mind, saw it as a level field of black glass. He imagined a sudden blast of fire come burgeoning up, blossoming like a red flower under the eye of the night. He wondered where the attack would come from, and if he would be a casualty. Idly, he thought of dragon-fire. First the red-orange glow in their jaws, then the fire would be there, birthed from fanged jaws. The outliers of its warmth would touch his frozen marrow, a last kiss for a creature already burned, dark child of dark outlands. And then it would be over.   
The thought pleased him with its poetic balance. The child of the gloaming would be killed by white-hot heat.   
"Maeglin! How good to see you!"   
His hands splayed on the frigid stone, grasping at the tiny niches and imperfections in the rock wall. His dark fantasy had descended out of the night, swaddling him, smothering him, and it was hard to reconcile Salgant's voice with the thought of dragon-fire. Salgant had a good voice though, not as deep as other Elf-Men, but clear and smooth, like the sound of a dulcimer, and he was a fine singer, though constantly overshadowed by Ecthelion.   
Maeglin opened his eyes unwillingly, as though his unnerved mind expected a trick. But it was only Salgant, his pale face a strange contrast with the funereal tone of his garb, the light in his eyes dimmed by the flesh that surrounded them.   
The Prince smiled at the corpulent musician-lord, tasting opportunities. "And I you, Lord Salgant. What brings you all the way to the Gates, and on such a bitter night?"   
Salgant sighed. "My daughter's begetting day is but two days away, and I came to ask you to make her a gift. Whatever you believe suitable. Your works are priceless in the City."   
"Of course I will," Maeglin said, with such hearty goodwill that Salgant glanced at him, slightly startled.   
"How kind of you, my Lord," the Harper said. "And you seem to be in an excellent mood, though it's cold enough to freeze the blood."   
Maeglin shrugged, looking out over the snow-bound land. The shadows of the overhanging rock wall hid his face from Salgant, but Maeglin's eyes were sharp, predatory. "I suppose I am," he said. "Tell me, do you have any designs in mind? I have heard you say your daughter is fond of butterflies."   
Salgant nodded. "She adores butterflies. Perhaps a hair-clasp? She has such wavy hair, and it is always getting into her eyes."   
Maeglin grinned, leaning his head against the cliff. "I know what I will make," he said.   
Salgant stood by the Prince, drawing his cloak tightly around him. "And what can I give you in return for your time and labor?" the Lord of the Harp, smiling.   
"Salgant, I want nothing from you," Maeglin laughed. "This gift is a token of our friendship."  
The wind gusted, hard enough to flatten them both against the cliff face, cold enough to burn their faces.   
"My Lord Maeglin, you do me a great honor in considering me as your friend, just as I consider you a very dear one," the Harper answered sincerely.   
"It is mutual," the Prince assured him. Salgant had weak convictions and lived for comfort. He might be able to spin this story to get Salgant on his side, and he would need support.   
"Butterflies are such fragile things, are they not, Salgant? They represent change and yet their lives are so brief. Most butterflies live longer as grubs, did you know? I take it to mean that things cannot support true change for very long. It goes against the fabric of Nature," the Prince said thoughtfully.   
"Their beauty draws predators that would not look twice at the grubs," Salgant agreed.   
"Well said," Maeglin approved. "And this place is very beautiful, is it not?"  
Salgant's expression grew vaguely unsettled. "Very beautiful," he said slowly.   
"You heard of the Fall of Nargothrond?" Maeglin inquired. He was still looking outward, and Salgant could only see his profile.   
"Of course."   
"But did you know Doriath has also fallen?"   
"You jest!" Salgant exclaimed with unwonted sharpness.   
"I make neither joke nor jest," Maeglin returned quietly. "Doriath is no more. And it was not taken by the Lord in the North, Salgant. It was sacked by the Kinslayers. We are surrounded by enemies on all sides."   
"We are the Hidden City," Salgant answered dubiously, as if he was Maeglin's pupil, asking the answer rather than telling it.   
Maeglin chuckled and shook his head. "If Doriath's Maia queen could not keep her realm safe, we have no hope. When the hawk comes, Salgant, the only hope the butterfly has is hiding in the thornbush. Do you follow me?"   
"Are you suggesting we ally with the Fëanorians?" Salgant's face was now clearly unsettled. The Oath of Fëanor had torn the Noldor tribes apart, and if Doriath had fallen by the hands of the Fëanorians, there was no hope of a union.   
At last, Maeglin turned his head. His eyes were dark and dizzyingly deep. "We are the outsiders, are we not, Salgant?" he said softly. The Elf-Lord stood passively by him, his square, fleshy face slack. "They made us outcasts. Does it not sting, sitting in their courts, listening to them talk, knowing that you will be overruled, trodden under, made the buffoon for not sharing their opinion?"   
"It does," Salgant muttered.   
Maeglin's lips curled in a humorless smile. "We are thrown the scraps, Salgant, like dogs sitting by their master's knee, and expected to be grateful. But what if we could change that?"   
"How?"   
"We need allies, my friend. Right now, we are caught between a rock and a hard place and Turgon intends for us to be smashed to bits. But what if we turned the hard place into a featherbed? If we allied with the Lord of the North, then there would be no more risks. The Kinslayers would not dare to challenge us! We would be safe here! There would be no more talk of sailors. We would be safe in Middle-Earth, safe forever!" Maeglin's tone was growing to a fever-pitch, exhorting, inspiring, encouraging.   
"The Lord of the North?" Salgant repeated without understanding.   
Maeglin took the Harper's shoulder, his voice becoming softer now, throaty and persuasive like the purr of a cat. "The Lord in the North, Salgant, would ally with us. The proud would be made low and the downtrodden raised up. The valleys would be exalted, the mountains razed." He paused, his face thoughtful, his eyes gauging Salgant. It was like seeing a deer being stalked by an old clever wolf, a deer too foolish to run. "There would be a few deaths," Maeglin began again. "But a tree must be pruned every now and again, so it bears the best fruit. We would be kings of the world. We would devour the arrogant and the glorious."   
A sheen of sweat stood out on Salgant's pale forehead, despite the bitter cold. His face was sick and pasty-white. "You are speaking of.... of..."   
"I am," Maeglin agreed, his smile strange, fierce and restless. "I spoke to Him, Salgant. He came to me in the Mines."   
"But He is our enemy," Salgant said, his lips dry. "He is evil."   
"Evil," Maeglin repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Is an abstract concept, like free will. The gods over in the West called Him evil, yet they stranded you here. They treated your kind like children, and when the children disobeyed, they tossed them away. What love do you bear for gods that will not stay by your side, Salgant? Why love them when they will not love you? Why believe in them when they do not believe in you? Believe in the here, the now, the present. The present is all we are given. Believe in what is here and now, because that is all there is."   
Salgant felt unable to breathe. His chest was heavy, his head swam, but through that muddy swamp of thoughts, Maeglin's voice intruded, bending his will. He would trust and obey, Salgant decided. Trust and obey.   
They looked together at the plum-black sky. The stars were disappearing from the sky, like a giant hand was closing into a fist around the firmament, blocking all the light from view.


	64. Less bliss have many had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Lord Glorfindel will confess his affections to Laura. What will be her reaction considering her temper? And what about the tunnel that Idril and Túor have made?

Chapter 64: Less Bliss Have Many Had   
The Last Day of December, FA 509  
They walked down the tunnel, holding hands, trailing their fingers down the rough walls.   
It was hard for Tuor to see, but Elves are like cats in the dark, and Idril guided him faithfully.   
The tunnel was long and rough and without finesse, and the last part of it that led up to the mountains was exceedingly steep. The sound of their breathing bounced around the subterranean place.   
Idril stopped several yards away from the exit and sat down. Tuor settled himself by her, leaning back and stretching out his long legs.   
There was a long silence. The December wind was awake despite the late hour, and it whistled down the tunnel, leaching away their warmth with every gust.   
"We should return," Tuor said at last. Idril had sat still and silent for a long hour. Only her hair seemed to move, a long golden torrent beaten by the wind.   
His words seemed to come to her only slowly like they were the hook, and she the silver-finned fish in a sea of thought. She surfaced slowly and turned to look at him with a wry, rather shame-faced smile.   
"My long-suffering husband," she said fondly, stroking his cheek. "How cold you must be!"   
Tuor smiled and shrugged, leaping to his feet with the agility of a boy. Idril held out her hands and he pulled her up to him. She was like a warm coal in his arms, but her eyes were still clouded with thoughts.   
He rested his forehead against hers, but she pushed him away, laughing.   
"Ai, Tuor! Away with you! Holding you is like holding an icicle!"   
"Idril," he said gravely, not sharing in her merriment. "Do not laugh for my sake. I only want you to be happy, not to pretend."   
She looked up at him but did not answer. The dreams had been coming more and more of late, blurred visions of infernos, blood coagulating into rivers of gore, broken blades, slaughter pits, empty thrones, towers fretted with flame, black eyes filled with so much hate, fire and steel arresting the destiny of her city. She would wake up and bury her face in pillows, trying to stop the sobs.   
"Tuor," she said, smiling at him. "Tuor, our time is here is short.... not enough. I have done all I could, and now I will relish every second I spend with the three I love the most. Each of you has more than a place in my heart---you are my heart. I do not laugh for your sake, darling, I laugh for mine. Give me the memories I need."   
"Will this do for a start?" he asked and kissed her. 

***

The stables were warm, smelling of horses and hay. Glorfindel stood by Valorocco, absently scratching his stallion's nose with one hand. He fidgeted with his other hand, constantly touching the pocket inside his jerkin where he had placed the necklace.   
The weather was milder tonight, mild, that was, for December, and they had decided it was warm enough to take their horses out of the stables.   
"Good evening, Glorfindel," Laura greeted cheerfully, stepping over the barn lintel. "Have you been waiting long?"   
"No," Glorfindel returned firmly, although he had been in the stables for more than an hour. "But let us go. Valorocco is spoiling for a race."   
Laura grinned. "Is he now?"   
Four hearts made their way through the starlit night, the horses and their riders. The horses' hooves beat a steady tempo, drumming the snowy fields, and the riders' hair blew out in the wintry air, streamers of black and gold.   
Glorfindel leaned over his mount's neck and whispered a word in his ear. Without warning, Valorocco caracoled away from Viento Nocturno, turning right through a rocky corridor that opened suddenly into a simple meadow no more than a mile wide.   
"What do you think of it?" Glorfindel asked as Laura dismounted. She looked around, impressed. There was something secluded and peaceful about the place. In summer, she imagined that its grass would be the shade of green reserved for summer memories, but in winter, it offered a snow-white promise too good for the soul to refuse.   
"It's beautiful," she said. "I can't believe we've never come here before."   
"Some places are reserved for extraordinary events," Glorfindel said. He reached inside his jerkin and produced a green silk pullicate and handed it to her with an expectant smile.   
His smile---so warm and full of hope, like the sun upon budding flowers---plucked at her heartstrings. She took the cloth from him and opened it hesitantly, gasping with joy as she dangled the necklace from her fingers. "It's....it's....so beautiful! Did you make it?"   
"With some.... help, but yes, I did," Glorfindel replied, his smile growing to intoxicating levels.   
Laura fingered the pendant. "You know me very well," she said, opening the clasp and putting the necklace on. "How do I-" she began, but her words broke off when she saw the way he looked at her. "Thank you, it's very beautiful," she finished primly.  
"No, Maistalda, you are the most beautiful," Glorfindel said.   
Laura sighed. "Glorfindel, you don't need to flatter me. Your gift is very beautiful, but I am not."   
"No," Glorfindel returned earnestly. "You are more beautiful than you can imagine. Your beauty is the hardest to find, but once it is found, it is the hardest to hide."   
Laura folded her arms across her chest. "Glorfindel, I really appreciate your gift, but I don't appreciate your sweet talk. I'm sorry, but it's not my style."   
"Let me finish," Glorfindel continued doggedly. His heart was thundering in his chest, adrenaline coursed like wine through his veins. "As I grew to know you and as you changed, I discovered your beauty. It is seen with not the eyes, but the heart. That is why I call you Maistalda. You are strong in spirit, Laura. You held on to the ability to change all your life, despite everything. And you are beautiful because of your strength and perseverance."   
Laura smiled a little. "You see it with the heart?"   
"Give me your hand," he said gently, and when she did, he began to caress her knuckles. "Yes, I see your beauty with the heart. Laura Kinney, Maistalda, I love you."   
Laura snatched her hand away, her eyes wide, her small mouth trembling. She could feel herself beginning to give and steeled herself by reaching around her neck and taking the necklace off. "Glorfindel," she said, "You've really gone out of line this time. You don't love me."   
"I know that you love me, Maistalda," Glorfindel replied.   
Laura laughed, but her laugh was shrill and forced. "Where do you get your information? I don't love you!"   
"That is a lie, Laura. I saw it in your eyes."   
Laura felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Damn you, Laura Kinney, she thought furiously.   
"When I called you Wilwarinda, I saw it for the first time. You love me like I love you." Glorfindel's voice was calm. His eyes were the dangerous blue of a summer sky before the storm. Laura felt his resolution, his calm persistence eroding her disbelief, like the sea wears away stone walls. She struggled to build them back up but knew they would not be as strong. "Maybe you need glasses," she said. "I don't feel anything for you, Glorfindel. I think you are just having a hard time finding your one true love, so you latched on to me for some reason. That doesn't make me feel good. Here's your necklace. I'm going to go now." She tossed it to him, and he caught it effortlessly, his eyes never leaving hers.   
"Laura," he said, wondering at the calmness with which he spoke. "For the sake of our long friendship, let me say my piece."   
She stared at him; her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to stop her heart from speaking.   
"Laura, I love you. If you choose to walk away from that love because of your insecurities, your refusal to believe in yourself, that is your choice. But whatever your choice, I give you my fëa."   
And at last, Laura let her heart free, and it flew from her chest like a hummingbird freed from its cage, running a straight and true course to Glorfindel. "So you really do love me?" she whispered, holding her hands out slowly as if stricken by sudden age.   
Glorfindel took her hands in his own. "I do love you, Laura. Please believe me."   
"I believe you!" she exclaimed, and with a sudden sob hid her face in his chest. Little by little, Glorfindel surrounded her with his arms, resting his forehead on her head.   
She cried into his warm chest until all the tears were gone, and what she felt was not emptiness, but lightness. When she looked it up, all she saw was love, love as blue as a summer sky before a storm.   
Glorfindel opened his right hand, displaying the necklace cradled in his palm. "This is a token of my love, Mánya."   
Wild roses bloomed in Laura's cheeks. "Then......would you help me put it on?"   
Once it was around her neck, they smiled at each other, a smile of infinite content. Glorfindel, understanding his lover's temper, did not press her for a seal of affection, but instead kissed her on the nose, which made Laura giggle. Then he took both of her hands and kissed her knuckles. Laura closed her eyes and shivered.   
"I love you, my Mánya," he said tenderly. "From this moment, my fëa belongs to you and only you."   
Laura looked at him, her eyes glistening. She longed to say those words, but the iron reserve instilled since birth stifled such displays of affection. But she would say it. She would find a way. For now, she just smiled at him, eyes filled with tears, and then she hid her face in his chest again.   
Glorfindel kissed the top of her head. He longed to hear her declaration of love, but he also understood Laura, in some ways better than she understood herself, so he would wait as long as necessary. That moment would come, and that moment would be the happiest of his life.... save for the one he was living now. 

***  
Two Weeks Later, January 

Since that night Glorfindel was beyond happy. He was drunk with joy, a deep, giddy happiness that soaked into his bones and turned his walk into a dance. The other Lords held their own reservations on the subject, but they would not deny their young comrade his satisfaction, and only wished him joy and smiled at his merry energy.   
Glorfindel, finally finished with the daily affairs of his House, stepped out into the early twilight. He had dealt with every complaint, notified which soldiers would be on Watch this week, held audience with the new soldiers that wished to join his House, and yet instead of feeling dull, he felt fully and wonderfully alive.   
There was a movement in the shadows under the eaves, and Laura came out to meet him. "I was waiting for you," she said.   
Glorfindel smiled at her. "And I am overjoyed to see you, Mánya. Where will we go tonight?"   
She sighed. "I have to go back to the Training Square. I need to set up the climbing walls for tomorrow's exercises."   
"I will assist you," he said, bowing gallantly, and she laughed a little. "If you want to. I didn't come to enlist your help, I just wanted to tell you I would be busy this evening."   
"Ah, but I can never resist the call of a damsel of distress," he said, and she jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "Let's go then."   
They worked for several hours. Glorfindel talked, laughed, and occasionally burst into song, and although Laura smiled at him, she seemed quiet and thoughtful.   
When they were finished, Glorfindel leaned against the outer wall. Laura joined him after a minute. "What are you looking at?"   
He pointed up into the frosty, star-bitten sky. "Menelmacar. The Swordsman in the Sky."   
Laura followed his finger with her eyes. "Why?"   
"My father was a swordsman, and a splendid armsmaster," Glorfindel said. "He loved to teach, and I loved to learn. This constellation lets me remember him. I cherish those memories."   
"Did your father make Culumaica?"   
Glorfindel nodded. "Yes. He made it for me when I was nothing but a boy. The first lesson my father gave me was not how to handle a blade, but the significance of such a thing." He smiled at the memory, drawing the words out of the deep well of remembrance. "I was a hot-headed boy, given to impulse, as you may imagine. When my father caught me playing with the sword, he took it from me and sat me down in his forge. Then he sheathed the sword and returned it to me.   
'Son,' he said. 'Has it ever occurred to you how different swords are from other weapons? In peace, an ax may be used for chopping wood and a hammer may build a house, but swords are only for war. Listen? What does a sheathed sword say to you?'   
I shook my head, puzzled, and he held up a finger. 'It says nothing when it is sheathed. It is a mute, dumb brute like an ax and a hammer.'"   
Glorfindel unsheathed Culumaica, and the blade glittered in the starlight, glinting with frost and fire. He offered the hilt to Laura and she took it hesitantly. She slid her hand in the ornate basket-hilt, which twined and twisted. The weapon's balance was impeccable, and she held the sword up, seeing the runes that ran down the blade. Then she swung it experimentally, adjusting her stance to compensate for the sword's weight. Glorfindel stood behind her, gently correcting her arms.  
"My father said that a sword half-drawn tells a promise, but when it is fully drawn, it is the promise. It shouts defiance, or hope, but never peace. 'There is no peace when you carry a sword, Laurëfindel. When you bear a sword, my son, you carry a message that can turn those who see you into your most steadfast allies or your worst foes.'"  
There was silence. They stood still, their hands tightly enfolded over the blade, their eyes fastened on the glittering edge, seeing themselves reflected in the cold glint of the steel. "Your father taught you that?"  
Glorfindel nodded.   
"He was a wise Elf," Laura said. She turned the sword down, so its point rested in the packed snow of the Square and turned to Glorfindel. Her mouth formed several shapes before any words came. Then sudden resolution flashed in her eyes, and she said firmly, "D'or."   
He arched his eyebrows at her.   
"D'or," Laura repeated, smiling as happiness resonated through her. "It means Golden in French, and it is your epessë, Glorfindel. Not because of your hair, but because of your heart." She laid her hand on his chest, splaying the fingers out tenderly. "Your heart is as golden and shiny as your hair. Your heart is golden and very beautiful, D'or."  
Glorfindel took her hand and kissed it, then kissed her forehead. Laura took a deep breath, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him fleetingly on the lips. Then she turned away from him, her hands gripping each other.   
"Falling in love with you was the easy part, admitting it that was the hard part," she said, her back still turned. "I've put up all these walls, but I guess you made your own door. Now you're here, and I'm glad because I do love you. I love you very much."   
" Mánya," Glorfindel said, taking her shoulders and turning her gently around. "You have made me the happiest creature alive."   
Laura glanced up, smiling nervously.   
"Will you allow me?" he asked. She nodded, and the kiss that he placed on her lips made the world fall away. It was slow and soft and comforting in a way words could never be. She surrendered to the bliss, wrapping her arms around Glorfindel's neck and returning the kiss.   
After a while, they broke away for air, and seemed to them that they surfaced into a new world. In this world, it was still winter, but no heart could mourn for summer or spring, for this winter was very beautiful, made of colors and shapes that were fresh and new. Never had Laura felt her place in this world so assured, so cemented with purpose.   
"I love you, D'or," Laura said, looking at him with adoring eyes.   
"But I love you more, Mánya," he said and kissed her again.


	65. To take hold of heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the disaster begins, lets see a couple of nice moments among the families of the Elf-lords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first song that Lord Salgant is singing to Eärendil was written by my beta Celridel. While the second one, the one that Lord Salgant is singing when Princess Idril interrumpt him is 'Moonlight Shadow' of the singer and musician Mike Oldfield.

Chapter 65: To Take Hold of Heaven 

February, FA 510   
A small arrow, fletched with blue feathers, thunked to the pavement in front of Duilin's feet.   
"You cannot pass!" the Elfchild exclaimed, hastily stringing her bow with another blunt-tipped arrow.   
Duilin crouched in front of his daughter. "So a rebel dares to attack her Lord?" he inquired, noting that Sulneth had painted--or forced her brother to paint---the sigil of the Swallow on her tunic.   
Sulneth grinned, the roguish, daring smile she had inherited from her father. "I will not let you pass," she insisted, her bow-arm trembling a little she tried to keep her aim steady.   
Duilin looked at her, his face grave. "What you have done is very serious. You are now an outlaw, Sulneth. You had best run."   
Eagerly, as naturally as a fish takes to water or a hawk takes to the sky, Sulneth raced away through the snowy gardens of her home, laughing uncontrollably. Although she was still very young, she had already carved herself a reputation as the fastest child in Gondolin. However, Duilin's longer legs and equally impressive speed allowed him to catch up with his daughter. He snatched her up, tossing her in the air. "Beg for mercy!" he told her, trying to keep his face grim, but Sulneth's shrieks of laughter cracked his mask and he began to laugh too.   
"Do you promise you will no longer attack your Lord?" he demanded, catching her in his arms.   
She nodded seriously. "I promise."   
Duilin grinned, put her down on the green lawn, and helped her regain her scattered arrows.   
"So you have been practicing while I am away, my little renegade?"   
Sulneth shrugged the quiver onto her back, her eyes round and serious. "Yes. Every day. But I am not strong enough, so I cannot join your House."   
Duilin ruffled her hair consolingly. "You still have a long time before you are old enough. But let me give you some advice. I saw you wrap your pointer finger around the arrow shaft. Only novice archers do that, and you are no novice, are you?"   
Sulneth shook her head. "Will you let me join your House, Atar?"   
He took her tiny hand in his and they began to walk towards the house. "Of course."   
"Will Amil let me become a soldier?"   
"Amil will once I talk to her," Duilin promised. As if summoned, his wife appeared, coming down the balcony steps to greet him, with Glastor, seemingly bathed with paint, by her side. Duilin's son had taken after his mother, body, and mind, with glossy black curls and an insatiable love for art.   
Duilin caught Glastor up in his arms, perching the boy on his shoulder while he kissed Elyéta.   
"How is my painter?" he asked afterwards, tugging on Glastor's small foot.   
"I did something new today! Do you want to see it?"   
"Of course. Duck your head when I go in the door, or you'll be decapitated."   
Elyéta took Sulneth in her arms and followed her husband in from the chill outdoors.   
"So where is your latest painting?" Duilin inquired, looking around him and seeing his house was more or less as he had left it.   
“I doubt you will like what he used as a canvas," answered Elyéta. "Come, let us go to our bedchamber."   
They climbed the stairs, Glastor leading Duilin eagerly, nearly bursting with excitement.   
When Duilin entered the chambers, he shared with his wife, he nearly fainted at the extravagant change. The decorous pale marble was gone, replaced by lavishly painted scenes. Even at five years, Glastor's skill was remarkable enough Duilin could make out his family in the tableau that spanned the entire wall. He crossed the room and touched a corner carefully. His fingers came away stained purple and blue.   
"Do you like it, Atar?" Glastor said eagerly. Great grey eyes looked at the Lord from under messy stray curls.   
Duilin picked his son up again, Glastor's intoxicating excitement overwhelming Duilin's irritation. "I love it. It is beautiful," he said sincerely.  
At that moment, if Duilin had to weigh the world against the sweetness of his son’s smile, it would not even have been a choice. The boy held Duilin's face in his tiny, paint-stained hands and kissed his father's forehead.   
Duilin settled the boy more comfortably in his arms and said gently, "Next time you want to paint, perhaps you should do it in the art-room."   
"Amil said so too, but there is no room," the Elfling protested.   
Duilin sighed as Elyéta nodded confirmation. "We will build a new place for you to paint, Glastor. But for now, maybe you should use canvas, like your mother."   
"But it is not the same, Atar!"   
"Paint my clothes!" Sulneth piped cheerfully. "You can put the sigil of the Swallow on all my clothes."   
Glastor seemed to glow with inspiration at the idea. He wriggled out of Duilin's arms and raced out the room, followed and quickly overtaken by Sulneth. The two heard their children's' excited voices come echoing down the hallway.   
Elyéta sighed, leaning her head on Duilin's shoulder. "You are not angry at him?" she asked. "I know Glastor's artwork can be trying at times, but..."   
Duilin kissed her forehead. "I am not angry. I wish that Glastor would consult with us before.... doing this," he finished, waving his arm around their thoroughly refurbished room.   
Elyéta giggled fondly. "He has such great skill. The world is his canvas, and I do not exaggerate. Everything he sees is fit for painting."   
"Mm," Duilin agreed. "I suppose he reminds you of another little Elf-child, who painted everything in reach despite her parents' wishes."   
"Did you put Linwë near a wine-keg again?" she said, nestling her head so it rested in the curve between his neck and shoulder.   
"Only a guess, melmë."   
"I heard you this afternoon," she said after a silent minute. "Do you truly intend to let Sulneth join your House?"   
"We cannot stand between a person and their calling," Duilin advised.   
Elyéta sighed. "But she is so reckless, so foolhardy, Duilin. Glastor considers things, even if he comes to the wrong conclusion. But I do not believe Sulneth has considered the consequences of anything, ever. She has the spirit of a hurricane!"   
"Elyéta, I was once far wilder. Years tempered me. They will do the same to Sulneth."   
"I do not want her in danger," Elyéta said, standing upright. In her eyes, Duilin saw her mother-spirit, a mother bear that would defend her cubs and her den whatever the cost.   
He took her hands. "Melmë, Sulneth would not be in danger. She will have the best training there is. That, coupled with her innate abilities, will make her an unstoppable force." Duilin grinned fondly. "A hurricane, as you said. Besides, what danger is there in Gondolin?"   
"You went to war," his wife said softly, holding his chin in her hands. "You went to war. There might be another."   
"The younger soldiers stayed behind. Sulneth will not be allowed to fight until she is older and wiser," Duilin assured her.   
Elyéta made a muffled noise, the illicit child of a laugh and a sigh. "Ah Duilin, you know as well as I do Sulneth will put herself in the thick of it. Do you think that Glastor has my qualities? When I see Sulneth, I feel that I see you as a child."   
Duilin laughed. "And yet here I am, the happiest creature in Arda, Elyéta. I have you and I have the twins. All the jewels of the Smith could not compare. I think there is much hope for our daughter."  
Elyéta shook her head fondly, smiling. She leaned close to Duilin as if plant a kiss on his cheek, and instead blew gently in his leaf-shaped ear, tickling it with her breath. Duilin cupped his hands behind her head and kissed her. Their kisses still had the same magic that they did upon the windy walls. It was the moon shimmering on water, it was the long shadows of trees, it was flowers and fruit, it was spring rains and tidal waves, it was butterfly wings and falling stars. It was to hold back nothing, nothing at all. It was to see and taste an alchemic compound formed from the elements of their lips and the catalyst of unabashed and infinite love.   
"Amil! Atar! Naunt Ramalë is here!" Sulneth screamed, tearing through their house like a small whirlwind.   
The two broke away, their eyes bright and guilty, like secret lovers.   
"This will be continued," Duilin said, arching his eyebrows meaningfully.   
"Get thee gone, rogue," Elyéta laughed, as Sulneth bounced through the doorway, breathless and grinning with her news.   
Duilin picked his cloak off the bed and followed his daughter to the main door. Ramalë, lean, wiry, and direly efficient, stood on the doorstep, as Glastor regaled her with stories.   
"And that is why you should not paint the Sun," the little sage advised solemnly.   
Ramalë nodded, her eyes showing clear relief when Duilin picked his son up, kissed him, and placed him carefully by his sister.   
"Listen to Amil. I should not be gone long. Is that not so, Ramalë?" he asked, looking hard at his lieutenant.   
Ramalë stared back, unimpressed and undaunted. Sighing, Duilin gave in and they walked down the Way of the Well at a crisp pace.   
"What is the trouble?" he asked at last when Ramalë showed no signs of breaking her silence.   
"There is no trouble. But, out of the kindness of my heart, I come to remind you of the monthly Council."   
Duilin struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, his face plainly horrified. "Ramalë, I forgot-"  
She pushed a thick sheaf of parchment at him. "I know you did. Here are the reports from the Swallow's Roost."   
Duilin flipped through the ream. "Ramalë, how can I ever thank you enough?"   
The small runner eyed him up and down with a look that boded no good for him. "Never fear, Lord Duilin. I will find a way. For now, seek out a fountain before you enter the Council."   
"Why?"   
"Oh, forgive me. Are you on the warpath or is that simply paint?"   
***  
A smile tugged at Turgon's lips as he saw the Swallow enter as unobtrusively as possible, his face pink with the scrubbing it had undergone, his tawny hair wet but still streaked with purple paint.   
“Pardon my tardiness,” he muttered, finding a seat by Egalmoth.   
“Not at all. It is only that we happened to be early,” the King said, his face all lordly courtesy save for the glint in his eyes. 

Flashback  
Duilin’s speed had been too great for a timely halt. He skidded to a halt a few yards beyond the King and Lord Penlod and darted back to them, standing slightly behind Penlod and fidgeting like a child that has eaten too many sweets.   
Penlod, aware Duilin’s patience would not extend for the length of his report, turned to the Elf-Lord, who was now bouncing on the balls of his feet, with a gesture of invitation.  
“Pardon the interruption,” Duilin exclaimed breathlessly. “But I have been made a father! The Válar have given Elyéta and I a child!”   
Penlod’s dark brows nearly melded into his hairline, while the King smiled at the Elf and clapped him on the back.   
“You have been given a great gift, my friend. I am beyond happy for you,” Turgon said.   
“Thank you, my Lord!” Duilin said, bowing although his heart was in the sky, overwhelmed by a giddy joy. “King Turgon, Lord Penlod, the announcement will be made the Roost today at twilight. Would you do me the honor of being there?”   
“Of course,” Turgon said, and Penlod echoed the sentiment.   
“I think you have much to prepare, so find a Lord that will take your guard.”   
“Thank you, my Lord. I will leave now, with your permission.”   
“My blessings to you and your wife.”   
Duilin was gone, challenging the wind with his speed.   
“Would you aid him?” Turgon said to Penlod. “When one is so happy, one forgets where they place their wits.”   
The Lord of Two Houses could not but chuckle. He bowed and left the presence of his lord to find Duilin.  
End of flashback

***  
“Find the nettle, kiss the flower   
Search for cure inside the sting   
Sow your ashes, hope for fruit  
And see what it will bring.”   
Eärendil’s eyes showcased the love and awe that only a young child can have, his small face dimpled into a smile made of pure sunshine. Salgant smiled back at the thrilled boy, feeling sick inside. He came often to Tuor’s house and was received by good wine, good food, and the warm greetings of the little Prince, and in return, he would entertain the boy with music and stories. Lately, though, he had noted that his mother had become reserved, and although she would not order him to leave outright, she had was less than welcoming.   
Salgant tried not to think about the significance of the far-sighted Princess’ unfriendliness. Tried not to think about it as he played song after song for the Prince until his voice was strained and his fingers numb. It was his small penance, perhaps.   
“It is a very pretty song, Salgant!” Eärendil exclaimed gleefully. For the Prince, all songs were pretty, regardless of the lyrics or the melody. “Would you play another?”   
Salgant tried to smile again, but the child’s wide summer-blue eyes, bright with utter innocence, made it a difficult task. He cleared his throat, swallowing a thick, slimy membrane of guilt. It sat uneasily in his swollen stomach. “Of course, little Prince. This is called Moonlight Shadow.”  
And he sang:  
“The last that ever she saw him   
Carried away by a moonlight shadow   
He passed on worried and warning   
Carried away by a moonlight shadow   
Lost in a riddle that terrible night   
Far away on the other side   
He was caught in the middle of a desperate fight   
And she couldn't find how to push through  
The trees that whisper in the evening   
Carried away by a moonlight shadow   
Sing a song of sorrow and grieving   
Carried away by a moonlight shadow   
All she saw was a silhouette of a bow   
Far away on the other side-”

Salgant’s voice broke off, his voice splintering under the weight of Princess’s blue gaze. He rose and bowed. Idril nodded back, her manner cold and precise, and took her son’s hand. “It is time for your ciphering lesson, my son.”   
“But Amil, Salgant has not finished his song,” Eärendil complained.  
“I see that,” the Celebrindal said, looking back at Salgant. “But it is time for your lessons. Lord Nolandil is waiting for you.”   
The child looked ready to protest but Salgant shook his head. “It is time for your lessons, little one,” he said. “You must go and learn but I will always be here when you have time, to play you a song.”   
Eärendil slid off the bench reluctantly, but before they left, Idril looked back at Salgant, and her eyes were as cold and invasive as a stab of ice. Salgant, frozen by her gaze as he made a bow, was able to note she was wearing shoes.


	66. Love once, change forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of bliss for Laura and Lord Glorfindel before the hell looses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs used, the first one is 'On an island' from the album 'On an island' of the singer David Gilmour; and the second one is 'Thank you' from the unledded album of Robert Plant and Jimmy Page: 'No quarter'.

Chapter 66: Love Once, Change Forever   
FA 510, Early March   
"D'or!"  
Glorfindel wobbled, made a half-turn, and fell onto the ice, bringing his elbows up in time to save his skull.   
With quick, dexterous sweeps, Laura skated to him and pulled him to his feet. "Are you okay?" she inquired anxiously, looking him up and down in the light of the three-quarter moon.   
Glorfindel grinned, brushing himself off. "Of course. The only thing hurt was my pride."   
Laura smiled tenderly at him. "Good. What would I do if you hurt yourself?"  
"Stay and care for me," Glorfindel laughed.   
Laura's face was serious. "Of course I would."   
The Elf's full grin dissolved into a sweeter, more affectionate smile. "I know you would," he said and kissed her nose. "Come, on with the lesson."   
It was early March, and although snow was still on the ground, the weather was growing warmer, and Glorfindel had eyed the blue-white ice warily, noting the thin film of water on its surface. But Laura's delight when she showed him the skates she had made had overridden his common sense.   
Laura nodded. "Okay. So when you do a spin, you need to use your speed to keep your balance. Before you start, hold your arms out and then begin to draw them in so you can spin faster." She demonstrated, spinning like a gyroscope and finishing with a fantastic flourish.   
Glorfindel nodded, doing his best to emulate her. Laura smiled, clapping her hands approvingly. "Much better! You're still a long ways away from getting into the Winter Olympics, but you might have a future in them."   
"Winter Olympics, aye? And what are those?" Glorfindel pushed off with his strong foot, sliding in a wide circle around her. He found he enjoyed ice-skating very much. There was a sense of gliding freedom that grew stronger as his skill improved.   
"It's a series of games like figure skating, which is what we are doing," Laura said, turning in a much tighter circle so she was always facing him. "It's very pretty. The participants wore beautiful, glittering costumes and there was music. Judges would give medals out to the participants depending on how well they did."   
"And did you ever participate?" Glorfindel asked, tilting his skate so he sheared off flakes of ice, the friction bringing him to a halt in front of her. "You seem quite qualified."   
"No. I was taught by someone who I needed to become close with." Laura paused, frowning, and then said. "X-23 learned this ability to achieve her goal, like she always did. But now Laura Kinney uses it to have fun with her D'or, which is must better, don't you think?"   
Glorfindel smiled jubilantly, holding out his hand to her. She took it and they skated, circumnavigating the pond, gliding to the shared beatings of their hearts.   
Laura took Glorfindel's other hand and they began to spin around in the center, whirling faster and faster in a turning gyre until centrifugal force forced them apart, and they flew to opposite ends of the pond.   
Glorfindel dug the blades of his skates in, bending his knees inward for balance, and managed to skid to an ungraceful halt.   
But Laura, who was far lighter, had been going far faster, and the tremendous speed had stolen her balance. She wobbled, flailed her arms, fell hard. When she hit the ice, there was a ghastly, wet crack. Glorfindel heard the all-too-familiar sound, knowing too well the ice was rotten.   
"Laura!" he shouted, seeing the woman was struggling to stand upright. "Laura, lay down! Lay down!"   
Then it was too late. The ice Laura was standing on gave with a soft sound, tilting precipitously downwards. He saw her take a deep breath before she tumbled into the murky ice waters, as cold as water could be without freezing.   
Glorfindel pulled his skates off, snapping the laces and not caring. He lay on his stomach, distributing his weight as best he could, and slid towards the jagged hole where she had gone under. He could see her on her back, trying to push the ice up to find air. Glorfindel made a fist of his hand inside his glove and hit the ice near her face. It buckled inward, sickeningly soft. He hit it again, and his hand plunged into the black, glacial waters. He groped blindly for what seemed eternity, at last catching the collar of her tunic and pulling her upward. Her moon-pale face emerged, lips blue with cold. He pulled her out up to her waist, inching himself backward on the creaking ice. She worm-crawled her way out the rest, and they wriggled on their stomachs to the shore.   
"Take your clothes or you will get cold-fever," Glorfindel commanded, once they stood on solid ground. Laura was shivering convulsively, shaking and coughing and shuddering.   
"N-n-no, you don’t get to see me n-naked," she managed between wildly chattering teeth. "And I won't get h-h-hypothermia but a c-change of clothes would be nice. G-give me your cloak."   
He undid the clasp instantly, handing it to her. She took it and stepped behind a tree. After a minute filled with soft cursing, she came back, holding the cloak closed with one hand, her clothes wadded into a dripping pile in her other.   
"We need to go back," he insisted, examining her with worried eyes. "You are shaking like a leaf."   
Laura rolled her eyes. "No. I'm fine. Just hug me and I'll warm up."   
Glorfindel sighed. He picked her up, cradling her close to his chest, and took her to the foot of the tree, where they sat together, holding each other very tightly.  
Laura's bare legs were alabaster in the moonlight; she leaned her wet head on his shoulder, soaking up his warmth. Her accelerated metabolism and enhanced thermal homeostasis were already heating her up, restoring her body back to optimal temperature.  
"For a minute, I thought I lost you," Glorfindel whispered into her hair, as she shivered against him like moonlight on water.   
She shook her head slowly. Her brain felt half-frozen, her thoughts coming syrupy and slow. "No," she mumbled. "You can't get rid of me that easily."   
"Laura, no."   
"I'm sorry. It was just a joke." She snuggled even closer to him, as if she was trying to meld into his body, her mind gradually thawing out. "I used to think my mutation was a curse but now I see it's a blessing because nothing can take me away from you. Not sickness, death, or time. You will always have me by your side. I promise that, D'or. I promise we will always be together."   
Glorfindel held her more tightly. "Yes, Mánya. Yes, we will be."   
They sat for a while, enjoying the snowbound silence. It was a good silence, smoothing over the jagged edges of the past hour like a restorative draught. They were cocooned in each other's presence, and each could honestly say they had never been happier.   
"We should make our own song, Mánya," Glorfindel said at last. He did not break the silence, he merely turned the silence's comforting quality into his voice.   
"I'm not a composer," Laura whispered, nearly asleep.   
"Laura," he cajoled. " You can play your guitar, I will play my harp. It will be our song! What do you think of it, Mánya?" His voice was growing excited as he fell in love with his own idea.   
Laura smiled sleepily at his enthusiasm. "It's fine, but I won't be very helpful."   
"Yes, you will," he insisted, tousling her hair.   
"Okay, fine," she assented. "But only because you're the one asking me." 

***

The song was a labor of months, born note by note, word by word. Glorfindel bore the brunt of it, but Laura offered her ideas, and they would sit together for hours, she with her guitar and him with his harp, struggling with a song that would last through Three Ages, ages of wolves, swords, axes, and winds. Music had brought them together when nothing else could, music was the shared medium between their earths, music would anneal their bond. Music was a silver world-tree, a tree with whose roots held creation together, whose flowers were love, whose leaves were peace, whose bark was unity.   
So they made their song, and they sang it together.   
"'Remember that night,   
White steps in the moonlight.  
They walked here too,  
Through empty playground  
This ghost town.  
Children again on rusting swings  
Getting higher.  
Sharing a dream, on an island  
It felt right.

We lay side by side,   
Between the Moon and the tide,  
Mapping the stars for a while.

Let the night surround you,  
We're halfway to the stars  
Ebb and flow, let it go  
Feel her warmth beside you.

Remember that night,  
The warmth and the laughter  
Candles burned though the place was deserted  
At dawn we went down,  
Through empty streets to the harbor  
Dreamers may leave, but they’re here ever after.

Let the night surround you,  
We're halfway to the stars,  
Ebb and flow, let it go  
Feel her warmth beside you.'" 

"There it is," Glorfindel said, and his voice was tinged with sadness. It was the progress he loved, not the product. "What shall we call it?"   
"I was thinking On An Island?" she said, ducking her head and smiling.   
"There we have it," he said, writing down the title on the parchment that contained the lyrics and the score in Tengwar. "Now we both have a copy."   
"I also have one for you," Laura said, giving him her own scroll, with the song and score written in English.   
Glorfindel took it with a smile and kissed her knuckles. Laura closed her eyes. That simple caress always managed to fill her with an ultimate peace.   
"I have a gift for you," he told, and took up his harp again, sitting cross-legged as he began to sing.   
"'If the sun refused to shine   
I would still be loving you   
If mountains crumble to the sea,   
There will still be you and me 

Kind woman, I give you my all   
Kind woman, nothing more 

Little drops of rain, whisper of the pain   
Tears of loves lost in the days gone by  
My love is strong, with you there is no wrong   
Together we shall go until we die   
Happiness, no more be sad   
Happiness - I'm glad

And so today, my world it smiles   
Your hand in mine, we walk the mile   
Thanks to you, you know it will be done   
Because you to me are the only one   
The only one, the only one

Kind woman, I give you my all  
Kind woman, nothing more

So, if the Sun refused to shine  
I would still be loving you  
If mountains crumble to the sea,  
There will still be you and me, you and me  
I want to thank you, I want to thank you."   
He looked at her expectantly, startled to see tears streaking down her cheeks. Concerned, he held out his hands to her and she threw herself into his arms. "How I love you, Glorfindel! I love you so much! So much!" she said between sobs.   
He wrapped his arms around her. "I am glad you like it, Anvanya."   
She looked at him with a shy smile. "So you really think I'm beautiful?"   
"More beautiful than you could ever know," he said and hugged her again.   
She tilted his head back and kissed him hard. He reciprocated, their souls colored gold with a moment of incomparable joy.   
"Thank you so much," she whispered when their lips parted, looking at him with eyes of the color of adoration. "Thank you for making me change into what I am now."


	67. Work of art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened a couple of hours before the disaster started that lead to Gondolin's ruin?

Chapter 67: Work of Art   
June 20th, FA 510. The evening before Tarnin Austa

The moon climbed into the sky, glowing white in the evendim. It hovered over sleepy terraces, gilding the fretted towers and paved streets. It silvered the rose gardens and shadowed the secret alleys with moonshine. The Gondolindrim lit their silver lanterns and readied themselves for midnight, their quiet joy filling the city. At midnight, their solemn ceremony would begin, and no voice would break that silence until the break of day. But it was not yet midnight, so Salgant stole through the pine grove, treading like a spy in enemy territory.   
"Lord Salgant, what brings you here?"   
Salgant's heart jumped, pounding arrhythmically in his chest at the deep, melodic voice.   
He saw Maeglin emerging from the trees to his right, slipping easily from their tangled branches. Looking ahead, Salgant saw that the forge door was closed, and no furnace fires were visible through the windows.   
He turned to face the Prince, wetting his lips with his tongue, as images jostled uncomfortably in his mind. The pale moonlight accented their faces with silver, but Maeglin's eyes seemed only to be holes gouged into the night.   
"I came to speak to you," Salgant began, hearing his voice crack.   
"Of course you did," Maeglin purred. For some strange reason, an image flashed through Salgant's mind. For an instant, he saw a bone-white tree, skeleton branches reaching up to the night. There were no leaves on this tree, but there was fruit, and he knew to touch that fruit would be death. He licked his lips again, trying to decipher what it was, but the image had dissolved away, and leaving only a ripple of fear in his stomach.   
"Lord Salgant," Maeglin said kindly. Either he had shifted his position, or Salgant had stopped dreaming things up. The Prince looked as he always did: lean, tall, handsome, his black eyes quiet and inscrutable. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"   
Salgant opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Maeglin held up a finger, smiling easily. "What I told you does not rest easily on your mind, does it?"   
"No," Salgant admitted slowly.   
"And what about it pricks the most?"   
"Are we certain that the Unnamed will keep his promise?" Salgant said, his voice pitched scarcely higher than a whisper.   
Maeglin leaned forward, his eyes lambent. "Salgant, what a grand and intoxicating innocence you have! The Lord in the North will fulfill his promise. Do you consider him a liar? Or do you mistrust me?"   
"No," Salgant said fawningly. "You are not a liar, neither can you be lied to."   
Maeglin smiled slowly, almost ruefully. "Ah, but it seems I am not as insightful as I thought. I wonder if confiding in you was wise."   
"I am flattered at your confidence," the Lord of the Harp answered hastily. "Only........I am concerned for the Prince's safekeeping. I am concerned that the Lord....in the North's anger at the House of Hador will lead him to act more rashly than is necessary. Eärendil is nothing but a boy and no danger to anyone."   
"I am certain that Lord in the North will do nothing rash," Maeglin purred.   
"But what if during the conflict that will surely ensue, Tuor is killed, or Eärendil, or even the King?" Salgant dared. "What will happen then? The Noldor will be left Kingless and scattered...."   
He trailed off as Maeglin took him by the shoulders. "Should that unlikely event happen, Salgant," the Prince said gently. "Then there will only be two choices. If we give the throne to Maedhros Kinslayer, our last hope will be gone. But do not forget I am a Prince, and I must, I will take that burden upon myself. It would be my sad duty to wed the Princess and ensure that the Noldor have a fitting heir. But as I say, I do not expect to be King. I only expect the Lord of the North to fulfill his promise, cementing our position here in Arda by protecting us from our rabid kin. I expect one other thing, Salgant."   
Salgant swallowed hard.   
"Can I continue to trust you, my dear friend?" Maeglin asked, smiling.   
"Of course, Lord Maeglin," the other said quickly. "There is only one other matter, just a little one."   
"And what is that?"   
"The Princess has taken to wearing shoes. I do not know if that is of any interest to you."   
Lord Maeglin raised an eyebrow slightly. "Thank you."   
"I am the one who is to be thankful," Salgant said, satisfied he had made the one he admired happy.  
The night had grown late while he had talked with the Prince, and as Lord Salgant walked back to the palace, he came upon a procession of Elves going towards the walls. Seeing his wife and daughter, he fell into step beside them.   
"Atar!" his daughter whispered, taking his hand. She was young by Elvish count, her grey eyes innocent and excited. Salgant smiled and kissed her forehead, reaching behind his daughter to wrap an arm around his wife's waist.   
Midnight came. Silence wrapped the city in a soft embrace, and all the Gondolindrim stood upon the walls and waited with bated breath. 

***

Turgon's POV  
'Night wanes and dawn is at hand. I hear the hearts of my people beat as one. Let the eyes of Summer behold immortality. This city is built from tears and resurrected dreams. It is built on hope, and hope will never die. The hope of my people no longer lies in the West. We fashioned our own hope when we were shut out, and this shall endure.   
We made a song from living stone, and we shall sing this song until the end of the end.  
Dawn comes with rosy fingers, lighting my pale City. Once, I imagined I would an image of Tirion, Tirion upon Túna, Tirion the Fair. No more. I took my heart from my chest and played upon my heartstrings, and the stone answered. I created a fairer city, the greatest work of art on either side of the Sea. I made a symphony of marble.   
And I lost too many, I know. But I think I have saved enough.   
So ready your voices, my people. Sing for the city that we built. Sing for the city that is my design. 

***

Lord Maeglin's POV

Idril, Idril, Idril. I did this for you. I did this all for you. You made a mistake, darling, but even the wise stumble at times, and I can love you through it all. You think you love the renegade man now, but when he is old and mindless, and cannot even remember your name, will you regret your choice?   
I know you will. You want to live, Idril. You deserve life. Your slate will be washed clean---with fire, but fire is the greatest purifier of all. I will drive the dross from the silver, Celebrindal.   
You have turned away from so many of my gifts, but you will not be able to tear your eyes away from this one. This is my masterpiece. My wicked work of art.   
This is my design.   
This is my design.   
I love you, Idril. You are the voice of my hunger and pain, you are the voice that has never stopped calling me. And maybe this devotion is doomed, but you are the poison I cannot live without. Our world may be ground to dust, and our sin may overwhelm us, but we'll drown in it together, you and me.   
The sun is coming, but you did not look at it, Idril, you look at me. I know that you know. I know you have known from the beginning, and I knew love would fetter you here.  
And the mountains are red.  
You wished for light, Idril? Here, I give you fire. We have all our flame and our storm to walk through. I went through mine alone. Now it is your turn, Idril, and let the coals burn away your shoes of suspicion. There will be pain, but I will catch you on the other side.   
This is my design, Idril.   
This is my design. And if it is sin, I cannot repent.


	68. Fire and steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now starts the Sack of Gondolin...

Chapter 68: Fire and Steel 

One Hour Past Sunrise   
Fire raced down the slopes of the Echoriath, rivers of flames that roared in bitter rage, turning the velds of Tumladen red, and pale Gondolin blushed under that baleful light. Across those fields, shapes ran, those who kept vigil on the peaks coming to bear the awful tidings. And some fell under the flames, but some came to the city, shouting in smoke-choked voices "Melko is upon us! Melko is upon us!"   
The Lords and their houses were gathered in the Square of the King, their voices carrying over the anguish and clamor of bells.   
Turgon's face was still and hard as the Lords spoke, shouting among themselves. Tuor pleaded that they should go and face the forces of Melko onto the plains while there was still time, but then he and the other lords fell to bickering, as to whether they should go forth as one or sally out in many bands.   
"Go forth in one great host," Duilin exclaimed. "We could route the forces of Melko if we fight on the open fields."   
"Yes. We sally forth in one united front, unhindered by walls and innocents, instead of being nicely caught in a trap," Glorfindel agreed.   
"Why toss away our greatest strength?" Maeglin refuted, speaking words of ruin cloaked in advice. "King, should we sally forth, our city would be left undefended and the losses would be grievous. Let us use our walls and gates to advantage, instead of throwing them aside and going naked into the open."  
"Indeed," Salgant agreed loudly. "The Prince speaks well. We can stand upon the walls and pick off our foes one by one, instead of making a desperate attempt to mow them all down."   
Turgon turned to face Maeglin, and his grey eyes seemed colorless. "You have not led me astray yet, sister-son," he said softly, yet his voice carried above the cacophony around them. "We shall man the walls. Now tell me, Tuor, where is my daughter?"   
"No--" Tuor said, and then his voice failed him, and he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Tears jabbed at the back of his eyes, sharp like a thousand needles. He turned and ran towards his house, and some of the Wing Folk followed him  
The fountains in the King's Square were steaming from the heat of the firedrakes, and Tumladen was cloaked in a thick mist, broken only by tongues of flame. 

Three Hours after Sunrise   
"Hush, Eärendil," Idril said softly. She pulled his tunic over the shirt of mail, and closed her eyes for a brief second, trying to contain the tears for his sake.   
Outside the windows, darts of Balrog-fire fell in a deadly rain, and the flowers and grass curled and turned black. The mist was growing thicker by the minute, and she knew that soon Melko's force would breach the gates, entering the city under the cover of fog and smoke.   
She took her son's hand and fled the house. She saw dark figures fleeing blindly, aimlessly, but the mist was too thick for her to see their faces.   
As if from far off, she heard her husband's voice, shouting her name. Idril turned, clutching Eärendil in her arms.   
Then a great gout of fire and smoke shot up, and the wall her house had stood upon was gone, gutted by the murderous flame. Heat beat the air with red wings, buffeting the two of them to the ground. She heard Eärendil scream as she fell on top of him.   
"Tuor!" she shrieked, but her voice was drowned by the swelling roar of a dragon, erupting up from the column of flame so loud she felt blood trickle from her ears.   
She picked her son up again and ran bent over, hearing returned as she went. She was fleeing towards the tunnel, intending to have Eärendil wait there while she gathered up survivors.   
She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw silhouettes through the mist, following her..........following her......following her.........  
Idril spun on her heel, no longer heading for the tunnel. She could not afford to have Maeglin discover it.   
Glowing cinders floated in front of her, newborn fireflies. The heat was sickening, blistering, leeching her strength away like a vampire sucks blood.   
Now she was on the scorched walls, and she knew Maeglin was near, for no Orc or Warg or evil thing assailed her. Only those shadows in the mist, drawing nearer, closing in on her in a half-circle. She counted five, the grimmest and least good-hearted of Maeglin's grim House.   
She set her son down, drawing the sword from her belt. "This is the time, Maeglin,” she called. “Show yourself!"   
And Eärendil screamed.  
She turned back, spinning like a dancer, her sword pale in her hands. Maeglin stood in front of her, Eärendil perched on his hip. His face was blank, calm, gazing at her with a flat, black stare.   
"Give me my son," Idril said. From behind them, a hellish chorus of noise erupted, and a sudden wash of heat assaulted them, thick with the smell of ash, brimstone, and burning flesh.   
"Drop your sword, Idril," Maeglin said, his voice soft and cold. She hesitated, and he stepped backward, towards the sheer cliffs. At the bottom of those cliffs, orange gouts of fire danced, and the precipice walls shimmered with the heat.   
She let her weapon fall from her numb hands, and the sound of her blade clattering on the stones was as loud as a scream. She stepped towards Maeglin; her hands held upwards. "Please Maeglin," she whispered. "Have you not done enough?"   
"I have done everything," he said, smiling. "This was all for you, Idril. This is your gift. I am turning back the hands of the clock, giving you the second chance you refused to give me. By tomorrow's dawn, you will be free from all your mistakes."   
He took another step backward, inching closer to the edge. Idril moved forward again, going slow and careful. She struggled to clear her mind of the overwhelming fear and anger and pain, trying to find the words that would buy her a little time.   
"Maeglin," she said softly. "Maeglin, this goes beyond you and I or even Gondolin. The child you hold is the one who will keep the world in balance. If he dies, hope dies with him."   
"Hope," Maeglin mused, and Idril took another step forward. "Hope is and always has been a fleeting thing. The fate of the world will never rest with one man."   
"It does now," she whispered, and he threw back his head in laughter. "Idril, Idril, Idril!" he cried at her. "Idril, you are as complicit as I in this thing. This is as much your doing as mine!"   
"No!" she shouted, and moving fast as a lightening-strike, she slid the dagger from her sleeve, and stabbed at his neck. Maeglin brought his shoulder up just as she brought the blade down, and it sank into the hollow between his clavicle and his neck. It was a grievous wound, but nowhere near fatal.   
He moved his wounded arm anyways, burying his hand in her hair, close to the roots so she could not tear away. Idril finally understood how devastatingly strong he was, as he hauled her bodily to the edge of the cliff.   
Below them, the flames danced, clawing up towards them, and in their ruddy light, Maeglin's face was the face of a demon.   
She wrestled with him thereupon the brink, like a tigress for all her fierce beauty, a woman with steel in eye and heart and arm. She jabbed at his side and then his face, gouging at his eyes so that he released her. Idril grabbed for the dagger still buried in his flesh, but his hand was already there, jerking the blade out, his face was a rictus of agony. Behind her, Idril heard a sound like the rush of eagle wings, and she saw Maeglin's intent. She grabbed for the hand that held the blade.   
Then Tuor was there, and so great was his fury he seemed a battle-god instead of a man. Idril heard the snap of breaking bones, and then she had caught up her son, hiding his face in her shoulder, praying the struggle would be brief. And it was.   
Maeglin's body struck the cliff walls three times, and then he tumbled into the flames, a sacrifice of burnt flesh to the bones of his father.   
Idril stooped and lifted Anguirel. The black blade was light in her hands. She turned to see what had become of Maeglin's folk. They lay on the ground, a testimony of Tuor's wrath. Only one was breathing. Pressing her son's head into her shoulder, she stepped on the Noldo's chest, and Anguirel's blade pierced his throat. 

Five Hours After Sunrise   
Duilin pulled the string of his bow back, and   
Black scaled mountain smell of sulfur white-hot heat red flames please darlings don't look it'll all be over soon please let it be over soon oh Duilin where are you  
He stood petrified, feeling their pain, every inch of him blooming into a searing agony. He felt them pass, and their deaths ripped his soul into shreds.   
As he stood alone, frozen by the blistering, shattering pain, a flaming Balrog-dart flew true, piercing him in the eye. It was a brief sensation, cold and incomparable to the other pain. He staggered on the battlements and fell. The wind whistled through his ears (the sweetest sound) and blind, he met fire, but even that was not as hot. And those who stood on the wall saw his ashes borne away, flying as if on the wings of ghost-birds. 

Nine Hours After Sunrise   
Tuor tossed aside Ecthelion's helmet, pushing the Elf's face into the pure water of the fountain, trying to revive him. After he saw that the Lord of the Waters had drunk, Tuor sat him down at the base of the fountain. Ecthelion's skin was grey with pain, his shield-arm a ruin of smoking flesh and blood.   
"Give me my helm," the Noldo said slowly.   
"You cannot fight. We will hold the King's Square until Glorfindel comes," Tuor said.   
Ecthelion's eyes closed briefly, then flickered open. "No," he said, every word bringing him pain. "Give me my helm, Tuor."   
Reluctantly, the man put the spiked helmet on Ecthelion's head, catching the glint of steel eyes behind the visor.   
"Now help me stand," the Elf demanded.   
Tuor swallowed, and with a mighty pull, brought Ecthelion to his feet. They stood together and watched the Alley of Roses turn black; the great hedges crumbled to ash as Morgoth's mighty lieutenant passed them by. He burst into the King's Square with a whoosh of flame, followed by a phalanx of Orcs.   
"So you arrive at last," Ecthelion shouted, standing upright and moving away from Tuor. "And I thought you were a craven, Gothmog. Come, prove me wrong!"   
A wave of heat assaulted those who stood in the King's Square as Gothmog approached the Lord of the Fountain, a towering monster clothed in flame, but behind the flame was a stygian darkness, a titanic and primitive blackness ripped from the gut of the night. Beside him, Ecthelion looked like a child or a dwarf, but the Elf did not quail, and the fire rippled on his sword and reflected in his diamond eyes.   
Gothmog laughed, a thunderous sound, harsh as grating stones. "Do the Noldor ever learn when it is too late? Death is already yours, Fading Star."   
"Did your Master send you to bandy words or to fight? Will you bore me to death, then?" Ecthelion challenged, his voice clear with ruthless calm, closing the distance between them.   
They fought then, a symphony of steel upon steel, but Ecthelion was already weak, and Gothmog battered Ecthelion back, until the Elf's back as at the base of the King's fountain.   
Then Gothmog's axe clove through the Elf's sword hand, separating flesh and bone like pulpwood, and Ecthelion's pale sword fell to the ground, his severed hand still clinging to the hilt, and all of Melko's creatures left alive in the Square gave a great cheer.   
Ecthelion stepped backward onto the lip of the fountain, blood flowing freely from the stump of his hand. Then he seized the flaming monster in a death-giving embrace, burying the spike of his helmet deep into Gothmog's black heart. They fell backward together, locked together like lovers, and the clear waters of the fountain swallowed them whole. 

Thirteen Hours After Sunrise  
Blood coagulated behind them, a solid river of carnage and gore. Anguirel's blade was ripe and dripping as she clove through the skull of an Orc. Voronwë was at her back and they hewed their way through the black throng, going like a firebolt through a forest.   
"To me!" Idril shouted. "To me!! To me!" Her voice rang clarion over the brazen trumpets and crackling of fire. By her count, they led nearly a thousand survivors to the tunnel, but it was not enough.   
They moved through the rubble and fire, and those who could walk clustered to them, swelling their bands into hundreds.   
At last, Idril turned to look at Voronwë, wiping the sweat from her brow with her arm. "Where are they?" she demanded. A few scattered Orcs moved through the streets, but her band quickly did away with those.   
"The Kings' Square," the Mariner said softly, looking straight ahead. "They are gathered at the King's Square."   
"No," Idril answered immediately. "No, they are not. That is where Tuor fights."   
In response, Voronwë lifted a finger and pointed. Idril's eyes followed his finger, and all the color poured out her face.   
The King's Square was awash with a black tide, like a great field of dark corn and every ear glinted with barbed light. Coiled around the foot of the palace was a great dragon, large as a mountain, and its belly was red with impending fire. But Idril's eyes were welded on the window in the topmost tower, and there she saw her father, alone and crownless.   
She opened her mouth to scream, and the Square exploded into flame. It was a swirling storm of crimson and orange, red banners that unfurled in the hellish wind. The air was thick with ash and cinders.   
Then Idril found her voice, and she screamed. It was a long and primal noise, filled with rage and sorrow too great for words.   
"Idril!"  
Tuor's voice came as he ran towards her, his face black and red with soot and blood. "Idril! Idril! I live! I live!"   
She seized him in an embrace hot as the fire that raged in front of them, sobbing incoherent words.   
But Tuor moved away from her, maddened by her grief. "Idril, I will find your father! If I must drag him from the Hells of Melko, I will get him!"   
"No!" she screamed, holding him back, and even as she did, that high white tower became a spear of flame. There was a roar as stone gave way to heat and pressure, a crescendoing thunder, and the tower fell, collapsing in with a great gout of fire and smoke.   
That hour marked the victory of Morgoth over Gondolin, Flower of the Plain. 

One Hour After Moonrise   
Eärendil slept in his father's arms, exhausted by terror. Tuor walked slowly, focusing on lifting one foot, then the other. His very bones felt heavy, and he was exhausted to a point that could drive a man mad. To the right and slightly behind him was Idril. Beneath the coating of blood, her face was colorless. Her lips were slightly parted and when he turned to look at her, he saw them moved. He wondered what she was saying, but his own lips refused to form the words, as if to speak would be to expend the last of his strength.   
He thought the sun had set but could not be sure. The clouds were thick and churning, reflecting red with fire. Below them was a mist mixed with smoke, seeming thick enough to walk on, but he knew that one stray footstep would lead him down into a yawning emptiness.   
As they climbed higher, the wind began to howl, flowing straight from the frozen heart of the North. Snow rose in eddies about them, for the Cirith Thoronath was a bleak place, bitterly cold all year round.  
It was not long before the snow was falling faster, filling all the air, and swirling into Tuor's eyes. He walked slower, terrified to make a wrong step, and find himself falling, watching the burned land below race up to meet him.   
Instead, he walked into Galdor's armored back. The Elf-Lord had stopped moving, and his head was tilted upwards as he listened to the wind, which seemed to howl with shrill laughter.   
Behind him, he heard Idril take a sharp breath.   
"They are coming from behind," Galdor said.   
Tuor was so exhausted that the words seemed nonsensical to him at first. "What is that?" he managed, and the sentence fell from his lips like a dead thing he had vomited up.   
Galdor turned to face Tuor. "They are coming from behind. Can you not hear them?"   
Although Tuor and Idril were walking in the rearguard, the man had not been able to hear them over the howl of the wind. But now the first sounds of conflict came drifting to his ears, even as the sound of many wings beat the air.   
"The Thornhoth!" Idril cried aloud, and although there was an ice-skim of hysteria in her voice, her words were glad. She reached up into the sky and plucked a falling eagle feather from the air.   
The eagles came with the wind, line after line, gathered from all their eyries, dominating the skies.   
~.~   
Laura and Glorfindel stood at the very back of rearguard, watching the Eagles snatch the climbing Orcs in their talons, dropping them to their doom. It was only when they saw one of those flying shapes burst into flame, becoming a wheel of fire that spiraled through the night, that they knew all was not well.   
"Another Balrog," Laura said. Her clothes were drenched with blood and gore, and Glorfindel had fared no better. "They just keep sprouting like daisies."   
Glorfindel smiled, but there was no mirth in the smile. It was as thin and raw and hard as a dagger cut. "Then, Manya, it is well that we are the January wind."


	69. A feast for crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else happened during the Fall of Gondolin?

Chapter 69: A Feast for The Crows 

Two Hours Past Sunrise   
The world dissolved into red. He felt the fire surround him, knew that the dragon had been loosed upon them.   
"Fire and blood!" he cried. "Take them all with fire and with blood!"  
Out of the dancing flames, he saw the fire-drake rise. It laughed at Rog, and a furnace wind engulfed him. He could see bits of bones and charred flesh in its black teeth. Its eyes were like molten gold.   
"Your house is no more," it said, carving the shapes of words from a single guttural sound. "Gondolin will fall ere the day is done, but you will not live to see it, little Hammer." It lowered its serpentine neck, fire glowing deep within its jaws.   
Rog leaped onto the dragon's head, standing for one instance upon the great scaly surface before he brought his hammer down, and the skull crunched, cracking under the blow.   
The dragon reared backward, beating black wings in a death agony, and Rog and the drake roared as one, as it came crashing into the flames, the Demon-Slayer crushed beneath its massive head.   
So fire overtook the Smith. 

Five Hours After Sunrise   
Laura lifted her head, trying to seal away the pain. Corpses littered the ground on every side, the cruel and the just side by side in a final bloody masquerade.   
Her recruits were gone. Claimed by dragon fire, Orc arrows, troll clubs, werewolf teeth.   
She wiped the wetness from her eyes and pretended it was blood, not tears, and began to run towards the Lesser Market.  
Rubble was strewn all about: great chunks of shattered masonry, burned beams, broken, blackened statues.   
Wings cracked the air like thunder, and she watched a black dragon launch itself into the air, a jet-black, scaly mountain that had somehow learned to fly.   
Fire roared somewhere in front of her and she rounded the next corner, she saw it. Flames swirled, now yellow, now red, now orange, and she saw three figures lying on the outskirts of the fire.   
Laura considered turning back and taking one of the alleys before she saw how small two of the bodies were.   
She ran nearer, near enough to see the charred corpse of a full-grown Elf, the flesh melting off the bones. The Elf had died covering two children with her body. Laura looked down at them in silence. They were burned, but not as badly as their mother, and she could recognize them. Glastor was dead, and for a moment, she thought Sulneth was dead as well, but then the girl's blue eyes moved ever so slightly. Her lower body was scorched away, but somehow, she was still alive.   
Laura wanted to scream.   
Instead, she crouched by Sulneth, drew out her claws, and brought a quick mercy. When the light had left the girl's corpse, she closed Sulneth's eyes, and silently vowed to never kill another Elf, unless under great need. An oath she would keep for three Ages.   
A tear streaked down her filthy face. 

Eight Hours After Sunrise   
The Great Market was a tableau ripped straight from the heart of Hell. Somewhere off in the far distance, Glorfindel heard a dying Elf call out deliriously for his mother. His armor was dented, discolored, stained with blood of all sorts. There was a high, shrill sound, and although he could not make out the words, fear was plain in any tongue. Then the sounds of slaughter overcame it.   
He had ten of his House left with him. A building to the right of him went up in a gout of flame, and through its smoldering remnants, he saw the tell-tale flash of a black axe. Then two. Then three.   
"Fall back!" he shouted, his voice raw with smoke and thirst. "Fall back! The Harpers are not coming! We must fall back!"   
Then it was too late, so he screamed instead, "Shield wall! Shield wall!"   
The first phalanx of Orcs, the vanguard of the Balrogs, broke upon the remnants of the House of the Golden Flower. They slammed against the shields, driving the Elves backward with brute force, washing them away as a tsunami washes away a conch shell.   
Then the Harpers were there, bursting into the Great Market, vengeance embodied and clad in black. The Orcs fell back under their sudden, savage onslaught, and Glorfindel caught the eyes of Machalon, Salgant's lieutenant.   
"The King's Square!" Machalon shouted. "Now go!" And then he was in the thick of the foeman, moving like the Hand of Mandos. 

Twelve Hours After Sunrise   
The Square of the King was choked with bodies, lying face down on the marble or floating like ghastly pale lilies in the fountain. The only unsullied things were Glingol and Bansil, gleaming silver and gold, still untouched by the fire and ruin that surrounded them. All the springs in the Square were steaming, and a sullen mist shrouded the courtyard.   
"Where are my children?" the King said. He was holding his side, where a dagger had raked him, and blood was blossoming there, dripping between the plates of his armor.   
"Idril and Eärendil are safe," Tuor answered, although his heart told him Idril was in danger---was putting herself in danger even as they spoke. He stood between Egalmoth and Galdor, his blade running red, his sword-arm so heavy he could scarcely lift it.   
"And what of Maeglin?" Turgon asked. He looked old and fell then, like a gnarled oak that has weathered too many storms.   
Tuor held the King's gaze, but he could not speak. A speechless ball of rage and tears choked his throat.   
"Where is Maeglin?" the King repeated.   
After a moment, Tuor managed to speak. "He is fallen."   
Now the King's face seemed only old, his voice a hoarse croak. "And did he die well?"   
"There is no such thing," Tuor answered. "Death is a terrible thing, King."  
Turgon straightened, and he held Tuor's gaze. There was a strain between them, a line of smoldering fire, drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame. Then the King closed his eyes, and said, "Great is the Fall of Gondolin." His voice was like the knell of a funeral bell, filled with a terrible grief.   
"No," Tuor countered wildly. "Gondolin stands yet, and Ulmo will not let her fall."   
"The Flower of this Plain will wither," Turgon answered, and taking his crown from his head, he cast it at the roots of Glingol. The circlet rolled across the marble, blood-red garnets catching the light of scattered fires. Then he turned away into his palace, and the Lords who stood below saw him climb to the topmost pinnacle of that white tower. There he stood in the window, a proud King, old and terrible, and he shouted in a voice like a horn blown among the mountains, and all that were gathered beneath the Trees and the foemen in the mists of the Square heard him:   
"Great is the victory of the Noldor!"   
And the hosts of Melkor screamed with laughter. 

Fifteen Hours After Sunrise  
"D'or! D'or!"   
Glorfindel turned, peering into the cinder-choked air, flanked by the last two of his House.   
"D'or!" The shout came again, and then Laura came running, racing through the ashes and fog and twisting flames.   
"Manya!" he shouted, throwing caution to the winds, and running towards her. They met midway, knocking the breath from each other, holding each other, and crying.   
"We have to get out," she whispered, holding onto his neck. "We have to get out. Where is everyone else? Where is Ecthelion? I thought he was with you."   
"He has gone on," Glorfindel said.   
"What do you mean?" Laura demanded, and then understanding sank in, like a stone falling through a deep pond. She closed her eyes briefly, and then looked up at him, her eyes wet and miserable. "But you're safe, D'or. I'm sorry I left you. I’m staying with you now forever, to protect you."  
Glorfindel kissed her forehead, and her skin tasted bitter, like ash and blood. 

One Hour After Moonrise   
Laura and Glorfindel stood at the very back of rearguard, watching the Eagles snatch the climbing Orcs in their talons, dropping them to their doom. It was only when they saw one of those flying shapes burst into flame, becoming a wheel of fire that spiraled through the night, that they knew all was not well.   
"Another Balrog," Laura said. Her clothes were stiff with blood, her claws out and gleaming in the pale light. "They just keep sprouting like daisies."   
Glorfindel smiled, but there was no mirth in the smile. It was as thin and raw and hard as a dagger cut. "Then, Manya, it is well we are the January wind."   
They looked at each other for a very brief minute, and Laura thought You are my sun, and I wish you knew how much I loved you.


	70. The Sun cannot fall from the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is the terrible moment when Death will separate the two lovers until the first years of the Four Age.

Chapter 70: The Sun Cannot Fall from the Sky 

The Balrog's dark fire lit the cliff walls, and the shadows of the Orcs were huge and monstrous. Snow was coming again, a heavy fall of thick white flakes, and the narrow path was slick with ice. The wind ran a gauntlet through the stones, shrieking like a harpy.   
Laura looked at Glorfindel, love intense and painful in her heart. You are my sun, she thought wildly.   
Glorfindel smiled at her. His face was weary beyond exhaustion, and his long hair was matted with blood. "The odds are not quite in our favor, but gods favor children and fools."   
His sword glinted in the Balrog's flame and Laura looked at his eyes. She knew how to read a man's eyes, and she clearly saw desperation.   
The Orcs came first, expendable pawns thrown at the warriors to weaken them.   
Laura fought with her back to the wall, a murderous black shadow, dealing out death. Once, she slipped on the ice, landing hard on her back, and an Orc axe slammed into her shoulder, sending a blaze of pain down. She brought her legs up in a vicious kick, sending her claws through its eyes. But before she could regain her feet, something huge fell on her, an avalanche of teeth and claws and black fur. Her chest was crushed, her arms pinned to the side, she stared into pale green eyes and a mouth crowded with pointed, bone-white fangs. It nuzzled her neck in a mummery of a playful dog, preparing to rip her throat out.  
Then more weight was on her, a feather's touch away from shattering her bones. The werewolf screamed.   
Gathering all her strength, she rolled out from under its corpse. Glorfindel was standing on top of it, struggling to pull his sword from the werewolf's huge neck.   
He was not looking at her, but past her, and his frantic efforts redoubled.   
Laura turned. She saw a great shadow, and in that shadow was a form of darkness and fire, of man-shape yet greater, and a power and terror seemed to go before it. It spread its wings in a rush of thunder and red flames leaped around it.   
She felt her mouth go dry with sudden terror as the furnace-fire of its yellow eyes pierced her.   
Then she was swept aside into the cliff face with crushing force. The Balrog's sword took fire, red, yellow, orange, painting the night with harsh hues.  
It raised its sword with both hands and brought the flaming blade crashing down with all its might.   
Glorfindel spun aside even as the rock he was standing on shattered into dust. Splinters of rock and ice flew.   
In the wavering firelight there was a greatness to Glorfindel, and a goodness as well, and he stood like a monument of some ancient king of stone.  
But his hands were empty.   
The Balrog did not hesitate. With a cry that made stones fall from the cliffs above, it came onto Glorfindel, sword raised to cleave the Elf in half. Glorfindel leapt to meet its rush, sliding under the flaming blade, the glint of steel in his hand. He thrust up and pierced the Balrog's belly, twisting it deep into the demon's flesh, and the Balrog screamed, a wordless, trenchant sound that cut through sanity like a blade through silk.  
Glorfindel skidded backwards, his hands going to his ears, his face twisted with pain. The demon teetered on the edge of echoing nothingness. A gust of wind blew against, and it fell over, down, down, down, down. But even as it fell, it wrapped its hands around Glorfindel's blowing hair.   
Laura screamed in helpless, empty-handed anguish, her fingers brushing only the tips of his. And then the two were far out of reach, plummeting down into the yawning emptiness of the abyss.   
"D'or!" she shrieked, and the wind carried her words. "D'or!" Those would be the last words Glorfindel would hear from his beloved Mánya for Three Ages.

Lord Glorfindel's POV

'Ai! Mánya, I failed! This is done. Even if the Guardian lets me from his Halls, I will return to Valinor. And you can never come…..  
Why didn't I realize before that I loved you? Why was I so blind? Why did I want to deny it? If we had accepted our truth earlier, we would have had so many more happy days.   
But I assure you that I will never forget you, nor will I go on with my life without you. I will not leave the Halls of Mandos until Arda is unmarred again, because if I return and you are not there ... what use is life to me?  
I love you Laura Kinney, I love you my beautiful Anvanya, I love you my beloved Wandering Star! Now and always! 

***  
She heard footsteps behind her but did not care. They could imprison her, kill her.........she had lived too long anyways.   
There was only one thing they could not do.   
"Don't take my necklace," she said, kneeling on the edge of the abyss. The wind beat the snow into swirling ribbons of white. "Glorfindel made me this.  
"You will keep your necklace."   
The voice filtered as if from very far away. Someone was taking her under the arms and lifting her to her feet, guiding her to some other place with a hand on her back.   
The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks.   
At some point, different hands were on her shoulders and a voice was saying, "Lay the stone, Laura. Lay the stone."   
The words lay in her mind like an oil skim on water. She took the stone that was handed to her and laid it on the mound.   
Snow whistled around her.   
She noted it was a poorly built mound, hastily erected and the stones did not fit together.   
She wondered who they were burying.   
Then she saw Idril spread a cloak over the cairn. It was shredded and blood-stained, but she could still see the celandine flowers winding their way across the white mantle.   
D'or, she thought wildly. Give him his cloak, he’ll be so cold. And then she thought, Why are they burying him? You don't bury the sun.   
"Come, we must leave." It was Idril's voice that spoke to her now, Idril who was pale and beautiful and bloodied, ghosts of tears carved into her marble cheeks.   
"Yes," Laura whispered. "At some point, we all must leave."


	71. Note from the author

This isn't a chapter per se, actually I want to say that from here on start the adventures of Laura Kinney during the rest of the First Age.  
As I said in the beginning of this story, though Laura will appear in different and important moments of the story of the First Age, that doesn't mean that she's a Mary-Sue and you'll see why along the chapters.  
After saying this small note, I'll post the next chapter so we all know what truly happened to Laura after the Fall of Gondolin and the death of her beloved Glorfindel.


	72. Against all odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened with Laura? We'll have a glimpse about what. This is the beginning of Laura's adventures during the rest of the First Age.

Chapter 71: Against All Odds   
FA 520: The Havens of Sirion 

"I wonder what will become of her?"  
The King and Queen of the Lothlim stood in the white breakers, so close their shadows were like one. The sea surrounded them, invaded every sense. The sharp salty smell of the air, the vastness of the horizons bounded only by the sky, the tug of foaming water around their ankles, the endless lapping of water on the sandy shore. Dolphins sometimes swam nearby, leaping through the waves like silvery spears.   
Tuor looked at Idril, and she was still beautiful, as fair as the sun and as lovely as the moon and brighter than the stars. "She has gone to find the Fate of Men, Idril," he said gently. "Beyond the circles of this world." 

Flashback  
They were near to the Land of the Willows now, and the river-sense was heavy in the low-land air, but so was the sense of danger.   
Of the eight hundred or so that had escaped Gondolin unscathed, less than six hundred remained. Everywhere they went, the works of the Unnamed One was seen. Green things fell sick and rotted, and rivers were choked with weeds and slime, and fens were made, rank and poisonous, the breeding place of flies and fevers; and forests grew dark and perilous, the haunts of fear; and beasts became monsters of horn and ivory.   
Tuor whistled softly, beckoning to Egnor, a Swallow that had survived. The dark-haired Elf was slim and sparely built but moved faster than Tuor could believe. "We are going scouting," he said.   
Egnor shrugged and laid down his water-skin.   
"I will go,” the woman said, standing up. Her eyes were pale and blank.   
Tuor shook his head. "You will stay, Laura Kinney."   
"We all have to leave sometime," she answered softly.   
Tuor ignored her, and followed Egnor into the underbrush, intending to circle around and come upon the Orc party from behind. They found it was far more than a hunting party. It was a cadre, handpicked by Morgoth to seek out the survivors of Gondolin: Orcs with eyes of yellow and green, who could take scents moons old and find among shingle footsteps that had passed a lifetime since.   
Wisps of mist stirred around them as Egnor and Tuor lay hidden, watching the Orcs.   
Then Egnor put an elbow in the man's ribs, pointing. Out of the rising mist, Laura came running, her claws drawn, slamming into the Orc cadre in a whirlwind of blood and black.   
Tuor sprang to his feet, but Egnor pulled him back down, slamming him into the wet woodland floor. "She is dead. And soon we will be," he hissed. Around them, the mist thickened to an impenetrable white, cutting off all sight of Laura and their foes, although the sounds of slaughter continued. "This mist is a gift from the Deep-Lord. Now we must go!"   
Tuor looked one more time and he thought he saw a curved blade fall hard and knew he heard hoarse brays of triumph.   
End of flashback

"Perhaps," the Princess said.   
Tuor smiled and kissed her hands. "I know when my wife is unconvinced."   
Idril smiled back. "The mist was a gift from the Deep-Dweller. Perhaps it brought things other than safety. The ways of the West are not ours to question or to understand." She looked out to the beach when a golden-haired boy gathered seashells. "Who are we to reason with the gods? Will what is molded say to its molder, 'Why have you made me like this?'"  
"I love you, Idril," Tuor said. "Although rarely do I understand you. But I hope whatever you are thinking comes to pass."   
The Queen smiled and laid her head on her husband's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat of the man that was her life. "As do I," she whispered. 

***

Eighteen Years Later…

The figure materialized from the dark forest, a lean shape clad and masked with black. Filtering moonlight looked down on the short struggle between her and the marauding band of Orcs.   
An Orc with an axe loomed up in front of the woman, swinging with both hands as he howled in wordless fury. The woman slid under the blade, pushing close to gut him with the jetty blades that emanated from her gloved hands. She spun and slashed at the one behind her even as its rusty dirk caught her below the breast. She drove her blades home and let him drown in his own blood. A hand seized her braid from behind, but she ducked the ponderous blow and gutted the last Orc.   
Then, her blades were hidden again with a sharp metallic clang. She stepped over the corpses and asked the woman huddled against the tree trunk. "Is everyone fine?"   
The woman nodded mutely, holding her children close.   
"There a village over there. You should go that way unless you want to find yourself in something’s belly," the woman said, her voice cold and toneless. She gestured towards the North.   
"Thank you," the mother whispered. "How should I repay you?"   
"You can't," the woman flashed back. Her green eyes glittered in the pale moonlight.  
"Then who should I thank?"  
"You can thank Mortissë," the green-eyed woman said and melted into the forest night.


	73. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things started for Laura that would led her to be the so famous (or infamous) warrior Mortissë who would wander throuought Three Ages?

Chapter 73: The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Doriath, Menegroth, FA. 505

Fire smoked and crackled, filling Menegroth with shifting orange light, and smoke rose with the screams to greet the pale winter moon. Elves were turned to black shapes under the harsh glare, and they fought and died on the marble floors, slumped against graceful buttresses and fluted columns.   
Dior Eluchîl knelt before his children as the sounds of slaughter came closer and kissed them each. Frightened, they stared up at him, great grey eyes in bone-pale faces.   
"Go," he whispered to them, pushing his sobbing wife away. "Go now! We will see each other soon."   
The swirling smoke and shadows hid them away. He stood alone in the throne room and thought that he should pray.   
He recognized the Elf who strode into the room, clad in black-scale armor that shimmered and twisted with glyphs and runes. His hair fell like molten silver halfway down his back. His face was imperiously beautiful, but his aquiline mouth was thin and cruel.   
Dior stood still, Aranrúth point down, as he watched the Fëanorian advance. "What are you doing in my halls, Kinslayer?" he asked.   
Celegorm paused in his stride as if just noticing Dior. A smile drew itself onto his face. "Ah, son of the Dog-Mistress. So, you haven't fled squeaking down your tunnels. Well, where is it?"   
Dior smiled back, desperate to buy precious minutes for his family. "It is gone, Celegorm. Gone to a place where your bloody hands cannot sully it."   
"Dior," Celegorm purred. "You do not have enough of your mother's looks to be such a fool. It is still here in Menegroth. Tell me, and no more have to die."   
"No more?" Dior spat. "This place is already a charnel-house. Besides, who would trust the word of a Kinslayer?"   
Celegorm's eyes hardened. "Then you have chosen your fate." He feinted to one side with his blade, pulled it back, and lunged at Dior from the other side. The son of Lúthien staggered, but he turned the misstep into a dive, slashing at Celegorm's face. Celegorm spun to the side and stabbed out. Dior parried the cut, danced away from next, slid under the third, and drove upward at Celegorm's throat. Celegorm turned away at the last second, but a faint red line streaked down his cheek and neck. He stabbed at Dior's unprotected armpit. The other groaned in pain as the blade sank home but lashed out with his foot, driving it hard into Celegorm's shin. Celegorm stumbled but as he fell, he twisted and lunged, sending the point of his blade towards Dior's chest. Dior swiped it away and kicked out again, slamming his heel into Celegorm's chest. Celegorm caught Dior around the leg, wrenching it upward, and the two fell backward onto the marble floor.   
They flew to their feet, coming back with swords in their hands, hacking, slashing, stepping, sliding, swinging so hard sparks flew. Faster and faster, moving like dervishes or juggernauts made of lightning.   
Then it came, the moment, and Aranrúth punched through a gap in Celegorm's armor. The silver-haired Elf staggered, blood bubbling from his mouth, his eyes frozen in shock and disbelief. He fell into Dior's arms, letting the Elf-King embrace a corpse.   
Dior stumbled backward, pulling the sword free. The wound in his arm was bleeding freely. Time, time, give them time. The litany circled through his head even as two more Elves burst into the room, dashing through the many tree-like pillars that stood sentinel in the Hall of the King. One was dark, with narrow features sharp and cold as pointed steel. He fell to his knees in front of his brother's corpse, his face contorted in with anguish. The other was taller and there was a sense of complete power around him, and a face that could inspire loyalty to death, but now it was twisted with rage and pain. His armor was a work of art, a splendor of enameled gold and crimson. His sword was sharp enough to sing as he swung at Dior.   
Dior blocked Curufin's blade, but before long he found himself retreating, trying to get away from Curufin's crashing blows. His own strokes became slower, his slashes wild. Aranrúth hammered uselessly on Curufin's armor. Dior felt impotent rage boil through his veins. He screamed, a wordless, ragged scream as he heard Caranthir rise from his dead brother's side. He bulled into Curufin, slamming the Fëanorian bodily into a pillar. There was a sickening crack and Curufin fell to one side as his leg suddenly gave out. He pushed Dior as he fell, and the Elf-King went sprawling to the ground.  
Caranthir's blade whistled a song as it came down. It filled Dior's field of vision like a falling star. It came down.........and down........and down........and down...............and Dior fell through blackness. 

***

The passageway had become steadily narrower until they were forced to go in single file, and the tunnel forked and twisted, burrowing towards many places. Their breath was cold mist in the light of guttering torches.   
Footsteps were coming, echoes traveling down the rock towards Nimloth. She knew it was not her husband.   
"Elwing," she whispered. Her daughter was not crying. There was a far-away look in her eyes as she turned to look at her mother, something aloof and totally removed. "Take this, darling." She put a bundle wrapped in dark cloth in Elwing's tiny hands. "Take it and take care of it with your life, Elwing. Do you promise me, daughter?"   
The girl nodded, her pale eyes far-away, and the Queen turned to Elwing's nurse. "Take her to the Havens. There she will be safe."   
She stood in the narrow corridor alone then, stooping to pick up a fallen rock and wrap it in a torn strip of her skirt.   
She listened to the footsteps that grew nearer and nearer, and it was not very long until she saw them, Elves clad in the silver and crimson livery of Celegorm and she began to run, although she felt achingly tired. I will see you soon, Dior.  
But it was only a few minutes before cold steel was at her throat and rough hands spun her around. "Give us the Jewel."   
"It is not yours," she said haughtily.   
"The fight is over, Queen. Do not spill unnecessary blood."   
She laughed incredulously. "You dare talk to me of spilling blood?"   
The face of Celegorm's servant was calm and impassive. "The Jewel, Queen. Or your death will be your own doing."   
"No," she said, and his blade shore through her, cleaving her clean to the breastbone. The bundle fell from her hands, the rock bouncing off the uneven floor and coming to a stop in a pool of Nimloth's blood. 

***  
FA 510, The Outskirts of Nan-Tathren

Water trickled around her nose and mouth. She rolled over, disoriented, trying to find a comfortable position for her aching limbs and muscles. Her skin-tight suit stuck to her, making it even harder to move. Laura blinked, trying to displace the cobwebs and thoughts came trickling back. Gondolin, her recruits, Glorfindel.........She slumped back into the marshy grass. Water gurgled into her ears, cold around her cheeks. Thick mist floated around her, eddying around the trunks of trees, a sea of fog.   
Then the voice came. It vibrated in her teeth and bones like the roll of ancient thunder. She curled up tightly, her fighting instincts suddenly erased from her mind. To that voice, she was nothing but a child, so a child she became. Lightning stabbed down from the sky, and for a half a heartbeat the world was noon-day bright. All around her, smaller forks of white-blue fire flickered. The thunder boomed and rolled and with it came a voice that seemed made from the very foundations of creation. In it was the wheeling cry of the gulls, the crash of surf on cliffs, the foaming rage of a stormy ocean, the deep, deep secrets the sea will never reveal.   
"Arise, Laura Kinney," the voice said. "Fear not my wrath. But stand up, for time is not given for you to tarry nor to seek out death."   
She struggled to her knees, her black hair falling around like molten onyx, dripping into her eyes. "That's my choice," she whispered defiantly. "You don't have authority over me."   
The mist vanished but the storm thundered and rolled around her, and Laura saw that she was in front of a rushing river. It seemed to her a mounting wave was rolling down the river and as it drew near, it broke and rushed forth in long arms of foam. Between the foam stood a figure like that of a mighty king, tall and terrible and majestic against the rushing clouds, his hair like foam glimmering in the dusk. His dark helm was foam crested and his mail shimmered from silver to green, flickering with sea fire. He stood knee-deep in the shadow sea, and Laura was forced to look away from the blinding white blue eyes, the color of forked lightning. She felt nearly sick with fear. Terror seized her, sudden as the storm.   
Again, his voice came, engulfing her, rolling over her like a tsunami overtakes a conch shell. "Death is a gift not given to all and the Guardian will not accept you in his Halls. Take heed of what I say."   
"I'm not from Ennor," she said softly. "I don't belong here so why bother doing all this?"   
"I sent Tuor, son of Huor, to Gondolin. Not for the sake of his one sword, but because from him came a hope beyond his sight or yours, a light that shall pierce the darkness. That is the task I give you, Laura Kinney. To watch over the son of Tuor and all his descendants. To guard that Hope when you can."   
Laura felt helpless rage mixed fear choke her, and she struggled to spit it out. "I'm not a hero! This isn't my job!"   
The King of Waters seemed to grow, lit with a divine glory that made Laura bow her head. Tears stung her eyes, burning like vinegar at the thought that Glorfindel had been taken from her forever.   
"You are no hero, Laura Kinney, nor will you ever be. You will watch from the shadows, be the grain of sand that tip the scales. That is your purpose. Neither must I give you anything in return, but I, I will be good to you. The Servants of the Doom of Mandos will not seek you out for aiding the Noldor, and if you fulfill your purpose, you will find the peace you long for."   
Laura felt tears run down her cheeks, but those tears were wiped away by an invisible hand.  
“Take a different name, live in the shadows and out of sight. Harm cannot befall Eärendil and his House."   
And then the storm fell away, and Laura found herself alone next to the rushing river in the middle of the forest. She leaned over and looked at her reflection. Her Kevlar suit was filthy with clotted Orc gore, but on her belt and still untarnished, was the golden medallion engraved with the celandine flower. Laura closed her eyes and unbuckled the belt. It was time to change completely, to hide who she loved and who she was. That would be only in her heart. 

***

FA 538: Twenty-Eight Years Later   
Laura rested her head against the foot of a sprawling oak tree, trying to see the stars through its wealth of leaves. She remembered the nights she and Glorfindel had spent looking at them with aching, eidetic clarity, and when they, as Alassë had promised, had found the magic in them. At the time, Laura had not understood the magic then, only vaguely sensed it. Now, the first inklings of realization tugged at her mind when she saw them. They were like windows, those bright spear-points of light, holding glimpses of a time that was far away.   
"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me," she whispered. But unlike the singer, she couldn't stop walking. She traveled her own boulevard of broken dreams, and they bit at her feet like shattered glass, but she had to keep going. She was Mortissë now, Warrior of the Shadows. She was Laura Kinney was only in sleep, when all dreams are unbroken.   
Mortissë was going towards the Havens of Sirion after she heard rumors that Sons of Fëanor were preparing for a third war. But Laura Kinney closed her eyes and willed herself to rest……and maybe even to dream.


	74. A falling star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting of Eärendil with his wife Elwing not to mention the disaster that happened just because as someone commented in the story: a lot of blood for a pretty rock.

Chapter 2: A Falling Star

Eärendil wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The sun was a dying sickle, slowly drowning in the sea, and its light shown on his ship. It was not christened yet, but in his heart, he called it the Foamflower.   
He had always understood his father's love for the sea. Before he had reached his twentieth summer, he had heard the solemn promise in the depths below and knew he would not find a deeper truth. Or so he thought. For long years, the sea had been his only love, the only force that moved him. But one day a girl who loved the sky as much as he loved the sea had come into his life, never to leave. The sea had been a jealous mistress, but in the end, he had given the girl who wished for wings his heart.   
Flashback  
Eärendil walked slowly down the shore, his mind pleasantly empty, his body pleasantly tired. It had been a day of long work in salt-wind and summer-sun, under the tutelage of the Shipwright. The ocean to his left was an ever-changing mosaic of blue, shining in the light of the rising moon. Although the moon was young, the night was still pleasant, and Eärendil craved the calm and solitude. The stars were becoming brighter above him, small pearls on an ebony cloth. He smiled to himself and began to whistle. It was several minutes before he noticed the figure ahead of him. She was wading through the surf, holding her shoes in one hand, her black hair tangled and blown by the wind. He stood still for a moment, watching her smile, watching the sandpiper by her side. She seemed to feel his gaze and swiveled to face him. There was a kind of nearness to her face, something both human and Elven. Her grey eyes were interrogatory and slightly irritated.   
"Pardon the interruption," Eärendil said. "I have never seen anyone here on the beach when the stars are rising, but now I found someone who outshines them."   
The girl raised her dark eyebrows into scornful arches. "Is it then the habit of Elvish sailors to make a pass at every woman they see?"   
Eärendil shrugged. "If I made you uncomfortable, I am sorry. Your beauty struck me, but I will leave you in peace now." He nodded farewell and walked on, but his heart was uneasy, the happiness of the evening suddenly robbed from him. The girl looked after him for a brief minute and then looked away again.   
He entered the home he shared with his parents quietly and slipped up to his chamber and sat on the windowsill. Outside, the ocean thrummed. He tried to whittle, but his thoughts flew this and that like a flock of disturbed gulls, and when he looked down at the wood in his hand, he found he had shaved it down to splinters.   
"What is the trouble, my son?" The voice of his mother floated to him. Years had tempered the Celebrindal, annealed her. Like any blade, she had been hammered by Fate, gone through ice-water and fire, but she had come out of her trials with a strength and a wisdom that Eärendil knew he would never have.   
He turned to see Idril smiling kindly at him.   
"Are you wise in the ways of women, Amil?" he asked haltingly.   
Idril laughed. "Somewhat, given I am a woman."   
"I met a girl on the beach tonight," he said. "She was.......very beautiful. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She had black hair and great grey eyes........and do you know who she is, Amil?"   
"She is Elwing, the daughter of King Dior. It seems my sailor-son has been trapped by the nets of Love," Idril said, sitting by him. "It happens to the best of us, aye, to the worst of else as well. I gave your heart to my father the second time I saw him."   
Eärendil's blue eyes were wide. "Love? I think it is too soon to say that," he protested weakly. "We scarcely talked. Besides, I doubt she would even want to see my face again."  
His mother arched a slender eyebrow. "Perhaps talk to her. Make it known that you are interested in her personality as well as her beauty. If this is from the Válar, then you will finally win her heart."   
"What if it's not her?" Eärendil said desperately.   
"Then it is not. Do what seems good to you, no one can ask for more." Time had passed and there had not been a day that Eärendil did not think of Elwing. He went home late each night, wishing with all his soul to find her, and it seemed that at last his request was heeded, for he found her one rainy evening, walking along the strand.   
"Would you like my cloak?" he asked gallantly, feeling the blood pound in his ears. "It would be a great shame if you caught cold."   
She turned to him and curtseyed. "The daughters of Doriath do not catch cold easily. Perhaps you should save your cloak for yourself, my Lord. I have heard that those with fair hair are more prone to such things."   
"Hardly," Eärendil returned. Her eyes turned his veins to ice and his heart to the frantic pounding of the hummingbird. "But why the curtsey?"   
She raised her eyebrows as if such a thing should clear to all but the most fantastic of fools. "You are a Prince, my Lord, are you not?"   
He nodded. "And you are Elwing, daughter of Dior the Fair.  
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "And here we are. Fate works in strange ways, I suppose."   
"I suppose," Eärendil answered. "But it seems darker hands then Fate was at work."   
"Yes. Doriath fell for a jewel."   
"Gondolin fell for Lust."   
They looked at each other, recognizing their similarities: two souls that had suffered slaughter and destruction in their childhood, losing loved ones to an unforgiving war.   
Elwing cleared her throat, seeming suddenly shy. "Perhaps I should apologize for how I spoke to you when we first met, my Lord."  
"No," he said earnestly. "There is nothing to apologize for. I should not have come upon you like that. And if you would call Eärendil, I would be quite grateful."   
Dior's daughter smiled, a smile that Eärendil was sure he could look at forever. "Eärendil is a beautiful name."   
"My mother and father do not believe in pomp and fanfare. So how did you know I was?" Eärendil asked.   
"I asked around," she said. "It seems many maidens find you quite handsome."   
"Do not feed my vanity," he warned. "Would you like to continue your walk, my Lady?"   
"Elwing," she corrected, smiling at him.   
"Elwing," he repeated, the name as sweet as honey in his mouth.  
End of Flashback

*** 

"Atar! Atar!"   
"Gwanûn! Gwanûn!" he called back, his voice as excited and cheerful as theirs. The twins surged into his knees, and he bent to hug them both. "How are my angels?" he inquired.   
"Angels?" his wife's voice said and he knew without turning that her eyebrows were raised in questioning arches. He took her hand and kissed it. "How are you, my love?"   
"I would be better if these two were in truth angels," Elwing smiled. "And you?"   
"Good," he said. "The ship is nearly ready."   
Elwing's grey eyes grew clouded and she looked away from him. "Nin gwanûn, would you go into the library and read?"   
"Read?" Elros demanded incredulously. Like Elrond, his eyes were strangely silver, his hair blue-black, a constant reminder that not all their ancestors had earthly origins. However, unlike Elrond, he preferred to spend his days outside, ripening to a deep brown from the sun. "The sun is out, Amil! It is not time to read!"   
Elwing knelt so that she was level with her child. "Son, what was the rhyme I taught you?"   
Elros looked down. "When a child is young, he must heed the rules, so that when he grows, he may use them as his tools." He sighed and turned into the shade of the house, dragging his heels as Elrond followed eagerly.   
Eärendil helped Elwing to her feet, putting a hand around her waist. She stiffened, keeping her face turned away from him.   
"Elwing," he pleaded. "Please talk to me. You can shout at me or weep on me, but please talk to me."   
Her jaw was clenched when she looked at him, her eyes dry and hard. "I do not want you to go," she said. "I am sorry to say this, Eärendil, truly I am, but none have heard from Idril and Tuor. Not even the birds. Perhaps it is a warning. What will I say to our sons when their father does not return?"   
"You will say nothing for it will not happen," Eärendil said. "This voyage is blessed, darling. Lord Círdan told me that Deep-Dweller himself guided him to make the ship."   
Elwing sighed, knowing she would never alter her husband's course. "When will you set sail?" She asked.   
"I sail tomorrow."   
"I will watch for you."   
He hugged her, and this time she allowed herself to be surrounded by his strong arms, arms used to building ships. "You will see me. Vingilótë will ride the waves," he whispered in her ear. "It will take me there and back again to you, Elwing. I promise. I'll come back."   
She turned and kissed him passionately. "You will," she said, smiling through her tears. "Or I will drag you from the Halls of the Guardian to kill you myself."   
That next morning dawned golden and Vingilótë gleamed in that light, a thing of great grace and beauty. The oars were gold and the timbers white, and its sail were as the argent moon. Her prow, fashioned with Elven skill into the head and curving neck of a swan, bobbed in the tide, as eager as her master to be sailing.   
Elwing stood on a cliff and watched that ship dwindle into the distance. Every sunrise and every evenfall, the inhabitants of the Mouths of Sirion saw her standing there, waiting, tall and straight as a spear, shining like its point. 

***

Havens of Sirion, FA.538

Elwing locked the door to the watchtower with cold hands. It stood high and alone on a lofty crag that overlooked the Great Sea.   
A year ago, a messenger had come to Havens to find her standing by the sea.   
'Who are you and what is your desire?' she had asked, and thought she knew him from a time before.   
'I bear a message from Maedhros, Firstborn of Fëanor. The Lord of the Red Hand bids me tell you to surrender the Silmaril that his father wrought, and that is his by right. Will you grant it freely?'   
Elwing studied the messenger impassively. 'O lackey of the Kinslayer, tell your master this. The Silmaril is not yours. I will drown myself before I hand it over.'   
'So, you wish for war?' the Elf asked.   
Elwing smiled at him. 'No. I wish to kill you and your master. And if you do not leave, I will kill you.'  
And he left, but not long after one more returned. This time all the Elves of Sirion were gathered behind their Lady, who wore the Silmaril upon her breast.   
'Maedhros wishes to show mercy. He asks one more time, will you grant the Jewel?'  
Elwing laughed in his face. 'Maedhros wishes to show mercy? Hear that, all you survivors of the Sack of Doriath?! How merciful was he then? But I will not grant you the stone, the Silmaril that Beren won and Lúthien wore, and for which my mother and father was slain?! Begone, and take your lies with you, for they reek of blood!'   
She had prepared for war, but Maedhros and Maglor had swooped down on them like a hawk on a cony. When the Havens were turned into a charnel-house, she had taken her sons to the cellar of the watchhouse, kissed their heads, promised she would be back for them, and locked the heavy oak door. Then she had fled up the winding stairs, to the highest room and waited there.  
It was not long before she heard footsteps. Fear rose hot in her throat, with a taste of blood when Maedhros' voice came.   
The Silmaril gleamed in her hand, cold and heartless and white.  
"Lady of Sirion, let us have done with this."   
She closed her eyes and felt a child again, a child stumbling through snow, screams frozen in her throat. She thought of birds. Birds flying. Birds in spring, filling the white skies that had just begun to thaw.   
There was a splintering crack as Maedhros hit the door. It gave with chilling ease under his might.   
Then he strode into the room, the giant she remembered in nightmares, his hair and cloak a chaos of wine-red, his armor stained with drying blood.   
“Come, Lady," he said, with the air of one accustomed to obedience, his voice one of deep-toned resolution and strength of will. “There is no need for this. Give me the Silmaril."   
She took a step backward, found it was very easy. She took another one, and another until she felt the window at her back.   
Outside, the air was very cold, and pale clouds danced attendance on the moon.  
Maedhros was reaching for her. She wavered on the windowsill. Something dark moved into the room, a shadow dressed in black, lunging for Maedhros. But Maedhros was intent on her. He snatched for her with a speed that she could not believe, even as she threw herself backward. The air whistled through her ears, and the sea parted for her, enfolding her in restless waters. The water was silver at first, then dark blue, and finally black. Icy peace filled her bones. As the cold the stone in her hand was, the water was colder and the Silmaril did not shine. She closed her eyes and waited.  
Then it seemed a hand or great wave was on her back, pushing her upwards. The water thundered and beat upon her face as her body fled upwards, and the Silmaril began to shine like a white flame. Her darkling head broke the waters, the wave clashed about her knees and spread away as Elwing rose in a snowstorm of white wings and brilliance beyond compare, looking back for one last time. Saltwater trickled down her face, but she spread her wings and was gone.   
The fight inside the tower was short and brutal. Maedhros was a trained warrior, stronger than Laura had ever believed possible, but she had caught him by surprise, leaping onto his shoulders and after a brief struggle, she smashed Maedhros' head against the wall and he fell sprawling on the stone floor, unconscious. Laura stood up, seeing a flash of white through the window. Then she turned away, tottering ungracefully, a touch away from falling. During the struggle, Maedhros had broken her shin bone. She hobbled first, then limped, and then sprinted as her healing factor knit her together, searching for the sons of Eärendil.


	75. Elros and Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time that Laura AKA Mortissë meets the twins because this won't be the first time they meet each other, specially Elrond.

Chapter 3: Elros and Elrond

Laura slammed her heel into the door, just above the lock. There was a splintering sound, like kindling breaking. She kicked it once more, and the heavy cellar door swung in with a groan.   
The cellar was dark, with a vaulted stone ceiling and a damp earth floor. She stepped into the gloom carefully. She knew the twins were in here, she could smell them, but for a minute she could not see them.   
There was the shuffle of small footsteps behind her, like the pitter-patter of a frightened sparrow's heart. She spun, her claws out, and saw the children sprinting away, through the arched halls, towards an open door that led to the outside.   
She started out, then disappeared back into the cellar shadows as an Elf came darting down the stairs. He was tall and slender, his cloak blue and his hair black, his elaborate armor denoting his high rank.   
Laura stalked this Elf silently, even as the Elf followed the children. Elros and Elrond ran a winding path through grey alleys, heading towards the reed-choked marshes. When Laura was sure only the one Elf-Prince was following her quarry, she closed the distance between them until she was within striking distance, ready to land a blow at the back of his skull.   
Although she made no noise, the Elf slid under her fist with uncanny instinct, turning to face her. Laura looked back, seeing the similarities he had to Maedhros. She supposed it was Maglor. Laura knew was an excellent fighter, but Maedhros had been able to break her bone even when taken by surprise. If Maglor had inherited any of his brother's skills, it would be a long fight, and she had no time.   
Maglor made no move. Laura was not imaginative, but in the starlight, she thought that his grey eyes would crowded with ghosts. She wondered if her eyes ever looked like that.   
"Are you here for the children?"   
Laura nodded.   
"My brother wants to use them as bargaining chips for the Silmaril. But we will not hurt them."   
"They're children," she said. "Not leverage."   
"My brother will put a price on your head, and will most likely remove mine," Maglor said as farewell, and walked away, back towards the grey ghost-city that the Havens had become.   
Laura moved on. The fog was closing in, thick and chilly, but she could hear them ahead.   
“Mother sent a message to Gil-Galad. We could hide here until he comes.” she heard one say. "And it would take weeks to search all the reed forests, Elrond."   
There was a short pause.   
“No,” Elrond answered at last. “It’s no good. He’s the son of Fingon. Who knows which side he’ll take?”   
Laura's green eyes widened a little. A child who had only seen six summers was already untangling the twisted threads of politics, friendships, and families?   
“She knows that too. She won’t have gone to Balar with the Nauglamír," Elros said. "We have to leave."   
Laura stepped into their field of view, kneeling down in the cold water until she was level with them. "Yes," she agreed. "We have to go. I have a skiff hidden."   
A small kitchen-knife flashed in Elros' hand. "Get away. I know how to use this."   
"Of course you do," Laura said. She plucked the knife from the boy's hand and stowed it away in her belt. "I admire your courage, but we don't have time for it. I'm here to help, so let's go."   
When they hesitated, she grabbed their hands and ran, bent double, to the small boat she had stowed away in the reeds. From there, she rowed up the Sirion. The river was languid at the best of times, with a weak current, so by the time dawn had begun to lighten the sky, she had put five miles between herself and the Havens.   
"Break time's over," she said, severer than she would have liked. She had never cared for children and rarely dealt with them. She felt uncomfortable under the Elónoni's gaze, and discomfort made her sharp tongue even sharper. She ran the skiff aground. A forest surrounded, filled with mild mossy smells, but she kept herself alert, aware that the followers of the Fëanorians could be here.   
She set a brisk pace and for a while, her charges were able to keep up. The sun rose, the light filtered in through thick groves of the old forest.   
Then the footsteps stopped behind her. She turned back to see Elros sitting, his back against the tree. Elrond stood near him.   
"Get up," she said angrily. "They'll find us."   
"I am stopping here," Elros responded haughtily. "You are not a nursemaid. That was Meleth."   
Laura crouched down and smiled thinly. "You're right. I'm not Meleth. I'm Mortissë. We need to keep going, alright?"   
"Why do we need to come with you?"   
Laura counted to ten. In Quenyan. "Because otherwise, the Fëanorians will find us."   
"But why do we need to go with you? Where are you taking us?"   
Laura counted to ten again. In Quenyan. Backward. "Because someone asked me to take care of you. You can trust me."   
Elros scoffed. Laura saw how tired his eyes were. For all his mannerisms and bravado, he was only a small and traumatized boy.   
With a conscious effort to soften her tone, she said, "Someone asked me to take care of you. Someone more powerful and intelligent than any of us can imagine." She looked around, testing the woodland air, her nostrils flaring. It was clean and she looked back to the children. "Tell you what. What if we rest here for two hours? Then we'll move on."  
Elrond sat down beside his brother, and they leaned their heads together in a display of affection Laura found sickeningly sweet.   
One of them began to sing, his child's voice low and piping.   
"Now we sleep, and dreams I will weave you-"  
"Hush," Laura snapped. "Just go to sleep." She sat with her back to a tree, in the flickering shadows, ready for everything except handling children. 

***  
In the Havens   
Maglor walked slowly. The grey alleys and streets twisted and turned in a labyrinth, every exit seeming to lead him towards the sea. It was a slow and tortuous route for an outsider, and besides, there was no need to hurry towards Maedhros' fury and castigations.  
He found his brother sitting on the steps of the watchtower, a bandage wrapped around his head. Blood blossomed on the white linen, nearly the same color as his hair.   
Maedhros jumped to his feet like he was jerked by an invisible puppeteer when he saw Maglor. "Brother," he said slowly. "Come here."   
Maglor approached him warily, wariness crystalizing to a gut-wrenching fear when Maedhros held out his arms. "Maitimo, what are you doing?"   
His brother hugged him anyways, his arms inordinately strong. "The twins," he whispered.   
Maglor jerked away. "I did not find the Elónoni, Maitimo," he said, abrupt and defensive.   
A complicated expression crossed Maedhros' face, but grief, not anger came out victorious. "Not the Elónoni. Our twins. Ours."   
Maglor felt his gorge rising in him. Gorged on grief, gorged on grief, his mind sang. "No," he said. He heard the ice-skim of hysteria in his voice. "They are dead?"   
He wanted to break, to destroy, to become a dragon and unleash fire and blood but instead, his legs gave way beneath him. The stones rushed up to kiss him. This was too much. Too much.   
Maedhros' face wavered above him, like a reflection in disturbed water.   
Havens, Maglor thought and knew no more.   
He woke with the sun streamed in through the windows, disoriented. His throat was dry and aching, his mind a pale void of swirling, ragged words. He grabbed impotently after them, trying to collect enough to make a coherent thought, but every time he had a handful, they flew away from him again.   
Maglor heard a door open behind him. He turned to see Maedhros. His brother's armor was gone, he smelled of brine and his thick hair was dripping with water as if he had just been swimming. Now memories came rushing back, assailing his mind with a fusillade of pain. He clutched his head in his hands. Maedhros came and sat beside him, placing a hand awkwardly on his back.   
"All be well, Makalaurë. It will be. Please believe me."   
"Did you bury them?" Maglor asked thickly.  
"Yes," Maedhros said. He did not look away. "Yes, I did."   
Maglor focused every fiber of his being on breathing. In out. In out. He liked the sound of that litany. It was better than my fault, all my fault. He felt anger at being denied passage to the last rite, to say his final goodbyes, but he also knew he would have buried himself before allowing a single spadesful of earth to be thrown on their pale faces.   
Maedhros slid off the bed and crouched before Maglor. "Where are they, Makalaurë? I have already sent out hunting parties. They will find them before long." He paused, then said, "I know you let them go." There was cold pity in his eyes.   
Maglor did not look away. "Why do you want them?"   
Maglor felt his gorge rising in him. Gorged on grief, gorged on grief, his mind sang. "No," he said. He heard the ice-skim of hysteria in his voice. "They are dead?"   
He wanted to break, to destroy, to become a dragon and unleash fire and blood but instead, his legs gave way beneath him. The stones rushed up to kiss him. This was too much. Too much.   
Maedhros' face wavered above him, like a reflection in disturbed water.   
Havens, Maglor thought and knew no more.   
He woke with the sun streamed in through the windows, disoriented. His throat was dry and aching, his mind a pale void of swirling, ragged words. He grabbed impotently after them, trying to collect enough to make a coherent thought, but every time he had a handful, they flew away from him again.   
Maglor heard a door open behind him and turned to see Maedhros. His brother's armor was gone, he smelled of brine and his thick hair was dripping with water as if he had just been swimming. Now memories came rushing back, assailing his mind with a fusillade of pain. He clutched his head in his hands. Maedhros came and sat beside him, placing a hand awkwardly on his back.   
"All be well, Makalaurë. It will be. Please believe me."   
"Did you bury them?" Maglor asked thickly.  
"Yes," Maedhros said. He did not look away. "Yes, I did."   
Maglor focused every fiber of his being on breathing. In out. In out. He liked the sound of that litany. It was better than my fault, all my fault. He felt anger at being denied passage to the last rite, to say his final goodbyes, but he also knew he would have buried himself before allowing a single spadesful of earth to be thrown on their pale faces.   
Maedhros slid off the bed and crouched before Maglor. "Where are they, Makalaurë? I have already sent out search parties. They will find them before long." He paused, then said, "I know you let them go." There was cold pity in his eyes.   
Maglor did not look away. "Why do you want them?"   
Maedhros was stiff, nearly quivering with anger, but his kingly reserve held his wrath in check. "The Isle of Balar is the nearest haven for Elwing," he said slowly, as if explaining something to an idiot child. "And Gil-Galad would pay a goodly sum for the Princes of Arvernien. Perhaps even surrender the Silmaril.”   
“And if they refuse? Do you intend to march on Gil-galad as well, Maitimo?” Maglor demanded, his voice reaching a pitch he could seldom attain. “Perhaps you intend to slaughter the son of Findekáno also!”   
Maedhros' right hand, the metal one, blazed up, but he did not strike his brother. His hand slowly fell away, but his voice was brittle as hoarfrost. "Where are they, Makalaurë?"   
"I lost them in the salt-marshes," Maglor replied flatly.   
Maedhros shook his head. "Brother, I read you like a hornbook. You can track a falcon on a cloudy day, and you would never leave children to rot in the wild. You gave them to someone. Who? Who?"  
"A woman," Maglor said reluctantly. "There was a woman who said she would care for them. And after what happened to Eluréd and Elurín I could not bring them back. Not in good conscience."   
"I looked," Maedhros said softly. "I looked for weeks. You know I did."   
"I know," Maglor whispered. It seemed to him that he saw a scale, as Maedhros struggled with himself. Maglor held his breath, hoping it would tip towards the twins and not the Oath.   
Then Maedhros stood up abruptly. All doubt in his eyes was gone. "I will tell the search parties that there is a Fírima with the boys."   
"I did not say she was mortal," Maglor rushed, but Maedhros' eyes were grey ice. "A Fírima attacked me, and the Havens of Sirion is not known for housing men. I broke her leg bone. I heard it snap."   
"The woman I saw was not limping," Maglor returned.   
Maedhros hissed through his teeth. "So, either we have two mortal vigilantes or one who can heal herself in the space of a few hours? That seems more than unlikely."   
"You should let them go," Maglor said dully.   
"No! We need the Princes. Where did you leave your wits?"   
"Perhaps at Alqualondë," Maglor murmured, but Maedhros was already gone.  
***  
Three months had passed, and a white winter had stripped the leaves from a yellow autumn. Laura and her charges now called the forest of Taur-im-Duinath their home.   
In a strange way, Laura supposed she had begun to take refuge in the twins. She found succor in their company, in the middle of a world that seemed careening towards hopelessness. They had taught her how to find wild neeps, beets, and other sustaining roots and plants, and in turn, she had taught them the rudiments of hunting, and how to tan the hides of larger prey. They taught her how to listen to the woods, and she taught them how to fight.   
More than that, she enjoyed their company. She had found Elrond to be quiet where Elros was loud, thoughtful where Elros was impetuous. Elrond rarely voiced his feelings or opinions, but Elros flared up like fire.   
They had spent the summer wandering south-east, for Laura wanted distance between the Fëanorians, but also a mild climate. So she had taken her charges to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath was empty. It was also a hilly place, tightly woven with trees and thickets. Soldiers in full armor would struggle to pass through, leaving Laura free to use her guerilla tactics should any come.   
However, she had seen no signs that the Fëanorians were following, and she had relaxed her guard a little, even letting Elros continue his stream of loud chatter as they trekked through the hills, searching for a deserted cave to winter in.   
The wind was rising as night fell. Flakes began to fall, soft goose-down that coated the trees with white.   
The wind continued to rise, making a high shrill sound, and eventually, Elros fell silent, only speaking to announce he was cold.   
"It'll be warmer if you keep moving," Laura told him. "Besides, you don't want to spend the night out here, kiddo." She noted with envy that Elros and Elrond were walking effortlessly on the crust of the snow, while she was breaking through.   
They reached the zenith of a great craggy hill, the bastard child of a mountain. It fell away below them in a steep, stony incline that would be difficult to get down, even without the snow.   
"Mortissë," Elrond said suddenly. It was the first time he had spoken for several hours.   
"What is it, kiddo?" Laura asked. She thought she could hear something in the distance, mixed in with the howling wind.   
"The trees," Elrond finished succinctly and Laura was finally able to pinpoint the sound. It was a voice behind them, or rather, several voices.   
"God dammnit," she murmured under her breath. "Stay here," she said, turning sharply to the twins. "I'm going to go take a look and you're going to sit behind this tree and not move."   
"Mortissë," Elrond said softly. "Be careful."  
Laura felt a smile curve her lips upwards.   
***  
Laura slipped through the falling twilight, darting from tree to tree as she went down the hill.   
Half down, she saw them through the big flakes that swirled lazily. Maedhros' hair blazed like a beacon and Maglor walked beside him, head down against the wind. Scattered around were fifteen or twenty of his soldiers.   
She realized angrily that there was no way to outrun them. If she tried to get the twins down that precipitous slope, one of them would fall and break a bone, particularly in a snowstorm.   
She stayed still, pressed to the back of a twisted broadleaf tree like she was trying to become one with it. The soldiers had no rank or formation, they were spread out, and one of them had woken up unlucky.   
When he drew near her, Laura pistoned her arm out from behind the tree and dragged him in, smashing her skull against his bare head. The Elf fell with barely a sound, but she heard a sudden shout from down the hill.   
Laura snatched up the shield and sprinted up the hill to where the twins sat.   
"Hey kiddos," she said softly. "We're going sledding."   
She laid the shield down, concave side up, and helped them on. Then she grabbed the shield and began to run, pushing it along the ground, gaining momentum until the cliff suddenly vanished beneath her feet. Laura leaped on at the last second, and they careened wildly down the slope, flying over stones and snow and roots. The piney vale below seemed to speed up to meet them with terrifying speed.   
Laura let go of the shield and wrapped her arms around the twins, curling her body around them as they hit the first pine tree. There was a crack, and Laura felt sudden pain explode in her side as her ribs broke on the impact.   
The Elónoni were sore and scratched but not seriously injured. Laura had taken the worst of it. Several of her ribs were broken and her shoulder had been dislocated. She lay still, buried in the soft, cold pillow of the snow, and waited for them to heal.   
"Mortissë," Elrond whispered. "Are you well?"   
Laura nodded slowly, feeling her body knit itself back together, pulling her back to peak perfection. "Yes, I'm good. Come on, we need to put a few more miles between us and them." 

***

The snowstorm died around midnight. Laura made a small fire under a rock outcropping, and they huddled around it, dressed in their leathers and furs.   
Laura leaned against the rock wall, weary and ready to kill for something hot to drink. She was tired of eating snow whenever she felt thirsty and she thought longingly of mulled cider or hot chocolate. Those thoughts led her back to Glorfindel and his warmth. So pure, so beautiful. The sweetness of his voice, the warmth of his skin.   
"Would you sing us a song?"   
Her thoughts fell like a shattered mirror, littering her skull with fragments of memories. She blinked and saw Elros' eyes fixed on her.   
"My voice isn't very good," She protested weakly.   
Elros shook his head dismissively. "It doesn't matter."   
She sang softly:   
' This old house is falling down around my ears   
I'm drowning in a river of my tears   
When all my will is gone you hold me sway   
And I need you at the dimming of the day

You pulled me like the moon pulls on the tide   
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart   
A broken promise or a broken heart   
Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away   
And I need you at the dimming of the day

Come the night you're only what I want   
Come the night you could be my confidant

I see you on the street and in company   
Why don't you come and ease your mind with me?   
I'm living for the night we steal away   
I need you at the dimming of the day   
I need you at the dimming of the day.'”

Sometime during the song, the twins curled up beside her. She felt herself melt under their warmth; all her defenses turned to paper. They fell asleep nestled against her. Laura sat very still until she was sure they were fast asleep, and then she sang one more song, her own lullaby, mouthing the words.  
"' Hey, here we go!   
Through the grass, across the snow  
Big brown beastie, big brown face,  
I'd rather be with you   
Then falling through space.'"   
Tears coursed freely down her cheeks, a steady flow that refused to stop. She had always sung it accompanied by her guitar, but her guitar lay somewhere in the dead ruins of Gondolin, no doubt turned into ashes and smithereens.   
She swallowed hard.   
Her home was a sad loss, but she had wandered before and she would do it again. Her guitar was a sad loss, but she could make a new one. But Glorfindel was more than a loss. To come so close to pure love and lose it so violently was something not even centuries could heal. Her heart had been broken, crushed into a plethora of splinters, leaving her with a mass of angry muscle in her chest. The twins had helped alleviate the pain, but she reflected bitterly that all good things must come to end. They were Princes, not outlaws, and they did not want to wander for the rest of their lives. They deserved hearth and home, not this.   
Laura closed her eyes and slept......or so it seemed.


	76. Love something, let it go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will Laura do now that she has with her the twins?

Chapter 76: Love Something, Let It Go

Laura woke with a start, shivering. At her side, Elros stirred restlessly, as if sensing her unease.   
The woman drank deeply of the winter air. She felt she had been deprived of it somehow, during her dream.   
She carefully slid Elrond's head off her arm and flexed it until the blood flowed freely again. She took off her fur cloak and laid it over the twins, kicked snow on the smoldering embers of the fire, and disappeared into the greyness. 

***

Maglor sat quietly on a rock, his gloved hands steepled under his chin. He felt the cold creeping up on him, making every muscle clench and cramp. The pine trees crowded around him like old sentinels, charcoal outlines standing against the starless sky.   
Occasionally a sentry would pass him by, but they knew enough by now to let him alone.   
A bird called, its whistle pecking in through Maglor's grey fugue. He lifted his head and listened. The call came again, and now it sounded less like a birdcall and more like someone mimicking a birdcall. He glanced around, saw that the sentry was half around the camp, and stole off into the forests.   
The call did not come again, but his exquisite hearing, that had made him the most renowned musician East or West, let him pinpoint the sound, leading him to a tall spruce tree. He noted the fallen needles that scattered in the snow, sure signs that the tree had been disturbed, and then let his gaze travel upwards until he saw a human figure crouching in the branches.   
He stepped back, and the figure leaped down.   
"Mortissë," he said quietly. He had not laid a hand on his sword.   
"Disappointed?" she asked.   
"Disappointed to see you? Always," he returned angrily. "What madness brings you here? You were supposed to protect the twins, not dangle them in Maedhros' reach."   
Her eyebrows were scornful arches above green eyes. "You don't want to start an argument with me, Kinslayer. Because when I argue, my opponents get chopped up into mincemeat."   
"Kinslayer?" he asked incredulously, gesturing to her attire. "You are no innocent either. All the cloth in the world would not cover up that truth."   
"Come with me," she growled and led him at a brisk run to a rock outcropping. He saw the twins lying there, still asleep, wrapped in a fur cloak.   
"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "After all this, you suddenly decide to give them up."   
"Look, I don't like this any more than I like you," Mortissë snapped. "But I had no choice."   
She went and sat by the twins, gently shaking one and then the other. They woke up slowly, their hair tousled and their eyes gentle with sleep.   
"Hey kiddos," she murmured. "It's time to say goodbye."   
"No!" Elros exclaimed. "No!"   
"It's going to be alright," she said. "This is how it's supposed to be."   
"You are just going to leave us with them?" Elros shouted, and the anger in his voice twisted like a knife in Laura's heart. She could see the fury in the boy's eyes and knew that consoling him would be useless. So she turned to Elrond, and said weakly, "It's going to be alright, kiddo."   
"I know," the boy replied. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. "I have a gift for you, Mortissë." From the folds of his cloak, he produced a leather band, studded with smooth river pebbles, and put it in her hand. "I will remember you, mellon nín," he said solemnly.  
Laura felt tears sting her eyes. She would not allow Maglor to see her cry, but she hugged Elrond back. "This isn't the end," she told him. "Someday we'll meet again, I promise you. And Mortissë never breaks her word, you can be sure of that."   
That would be the beginning of a friendship that would endure for three Ages.  
She stood up and guided Elrond to where Maglor stood. Then she turned to Elros, remembering that first day in the woods, the little boy who tried to hide his fear with bluster and bravado.   
"Kiddo," she said. "I'm going to miss you."   
Elros looked up, and the hurt in his eyes broke off a piece of her heart. "So will I, Mortissë."   
Laura knelt down in the snow and opened her arms for a hug. After a long minute, Elros came. She could feel him shaking through his many layers and wished she could take his fear away.   
She stood up then and looked at Maglor. "You're going to take excellent care of them," she said, her voice cold and dry as ice. "If you don't, I'll know, and you and I will have a bone to pick. By which I mean your bones will be picked clean by crows."   
"I will," Maglor said softly. Laura reached down and ruffled Elrond's hair. "Good luck, kiddos," she said, and then turned back to Maglor. Her eyes told him she meant every word he said.   
"The same to you, Mortissë," answered the son of Fëanor and turned, the twins behind him. Nothing was seen or heard as they returned to camp, but Maglor was sure that a pair of eyes were watching him intently. 

***

"It seems pine trees bear strange fruit nowadays," Maedhros said coldly.   
"Yet now we know where Elflings come from," Maglor said, hoping to make Maedhros smile, but not a glimmer of humor cracked his brother's stony mask.   
The red-haired Elf crouched down in front of Elros. "Well met, little one. I am Maedhros."   
"I know who you are," the boy said, then added almost conversationally, "And one day I'm going to kill you."   
Maedhros rocked back on his heels, studying the child intently. "No," he answered. "You will not. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. What is your name?"   
"That's my business."   
For some reason, Maedhros smiled. He stood up, picking up Elros and perching him on his hip. His hands were experienced, having helped raise six younger children. "I like you, little one. But you will not be around me long enough to return the sentiment. What is your name?" he asked, turning to the other boy.   
Elrond stepped forward. The rising sun played shadow games on his quiet face; his eyes were a clear, pure shade of grey. "I am Elrond. What should I call you?"   
"Maedhros. Or anything you wish. Words do not trouble me."  
Elrond nodded calmly, and Maglor said, "Go inside the tent now." Elros wriggled out of Maedhros' arms and the two boys disappeared inside, the tent flap falling behind them.   
Once they were gone, Maedhros turned to Maglor. His face was thoughtful.   
"So the woman gave them back? Did she learn that playing nursemaid is harder than it looks?"   
Maglor shrugged. He found no reason to talk about what happened in the forest. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. What will you do now?"   
"Send a message to Balar," Maedhros said instantly.   
"And if Gil-Galad refuses? What will we do with them?" Maglor demanded.   
Maedhros studied his younger brother, and a frisson of tension seemed to pass between the two. "Makalaurë, an army is no place for children." His eyes seemed to read Maglor's argument, and he sighed. "When you stand with your head among the clouds, you see many things. If Gil-Galad refuses to trade the Princes, you will care for them. Not I. I have had my share of twins."  
Maglor nodded, relief blossoming in his heart. 

***

Vingilótë shuddered in the grip of the storm and Eärendil wrestled with the wheel, his feet slipping on the wet deck.   
The storm raged and boomed all around him. Waves slammed into the ship, and all the timbers quivered. He watched them, raking his dripping hair from his eyes, seeing that not all waves came with the wind. The wind howled, wild to smash Vingilótë into kindling, yet he steered straight into the gnashing teeth of the gale.   
Eärendil had spent three days and three nights at the helm, fighting to keep the ship on course, knowing that only this layer of wood lay between him and drowning. Exhaustion wailed in his bones, but worse than that was the tangled knot in his stomach, telling him something was miserably wrong.   
Plumes of spray beat against his face, half-blinding him but when he shook the water away, he saw something in the distance, white against the thrashing clouds.   
It came closer to him, hurled by the wind, a pale flame on the wings of a storm, and he saw with wonder it was a great white bird, with a star burning on its snowy breast.   
It came crashing to the deck of Vingilótë and lay still on the shivering timbers. Quickly, Eärendil left his post, snatching the bird up before going back to the wheel.   
All its feathers were sodden, dripping with salt-spray, its body cold. He held the wheel steady with one hand and tucked the bird inside his cloak to warm it. He wondered wearily what it was doing here, so far from any land.   
He caught himself falling into a doze sometime later, his head hitting the spokes of the wheel and straightening him with a jerk. He looked around wildly for a minute, disoriented by the churning sea. His legs were as weak as water.   
Hours later, he woke up briefly, feeling a warm body against his, and thinking it was a dream, he whispered Elwing before sleep claimed him again.   
The ocean was as still as plate-glass when he broke, the sails hanging limp and forlorn on the masts. He looked at all these things from where he lay prone on the deck. Eärendil tried to stand but felt a weight on his chest. He looked down and saw Elwing asleep, her head cradled against his heart. A snowy cloak streamed behind her, and as he watched, it dissolved into mist. Under her closed eyes were purple crescents, markers of a weariness that had pushed her nigh unto death.   
He shook her shoulder, feeling how warm and solid she was, how very real. This was no dream then.  
"Elwing?! Elwing?!"   
She woke at the sound of his panicked voice, springing to her feet, then stumbling with fatigue. The Silmaril blazed at her chest, brighter than any star, burning with an unfaltering brilliance.   
He caught her as she fell, crushing her to his chest. "Elwing, what is this?" he whispered. "Where are our children?"   
"They came again," she said, her voice thick with sobs. "They came again, they came again! They razed the Havens to the ground!"   
"Our children!" Eärendil cried, pushing Elwing away so he could see her face. "Elwing, where are our children?"   
She was shaking her head wildly. "No, no, no!"   
"Elwing!" he shouted, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Elwing, do you know what happened to your brothers when the Kinslayers came? Where are our children!"   
She pushed him away with a burst of strength. "I don't know!" she screamed at him. "I don't know! I don't know!"  
She was close to hysteria, close to doing something wild. He approached her cautiously, held her carefully, whispering meaningless things into her black hair.   
When her shudders had turned into trembles, they sat together on the deck, staring out at the slate-grey, stone-still sea. Elwing spoke slowly, her eyes fixed on some distant nothing.   
"I hid them in the cellars. I could not think of anywhere else. Maedhros came after me and.......and I fell. I had nowhere else to go but the sea. That was the only way I could save what was entrusted to me." She opened her trembling hand, showing the Silmaril. "Take it," she pleaded. "I don't want it. It has too much blood."   
He took it from her gently, and she continued softly, "When I was.... when I was drowning, I heard a voice. I don't know. I don't know," she finished shaking her head.   
"Know what?" Eärendil asked, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders.   
"It said they would be safe," she breathed, not looking at him. "Was that my guilt or was it something else?"   
"It was something else," he said firmly. "It was something else, Elwing. They will be safe. I know it."   
The sails above him bellied out then, suddenly pregnant with a westerly wind. Lines thrummed and tightened, singing a sweet song and Vingilótë began to glide across the flat sea. Elwing turned to him, her eyes huge, liquid pools of silver, and held him tightly. Her tears fell like warm rain on his neck.


	77. Now for wrath, now for ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The description of the War of the Wrath from the eyes of Elrond. What did the Peredhel thought about this terrible war that even destroyed Beleriand?

Chapter 77: Now for Wrath, Now for Ruin 

Morning invaded the sky with red, slaughterous splendor, for the Day-Bearer was sick with rage. She rose in a brilliance nearly as hot as her wrath, lusting for vengeance even as the darkness had lusted after her.   
It was a red dawn.   
A dragon dawn.   
Banners snapped in the wind and hosts of spears twinkled like galaxies, and it would have been easier to count grains of sands on the shore than to count how many helmets were gathered on that green plain, swallowing the grass with their numbers. Golden Vanyar stood side by side with Avari clad in boiled leather, Noldor dressed in ornate plate armor that would turn any blade, and Men in ring mail, Dwarves in spiked helmets and bronze war masks made by secret craft. Maiar went among them, taking shapes of beast or birds or even of humans, but they were easily distinguished by the brightness of their eyes and the white shadows they cast. There were gathered the greatest of Princes and Captains, and the smallest of folk, forced side by side by doom.   
Elrond stood by the High-King, dressed in armor fitting a Noldorin Prince. The Thangorodrim soared up in front of his eyes, titanic beyond measure, their summits glittering in the red light like rows of spiked teeth. He saw army after army vomited up from the dark, stinking heart of Morgoth's stronghold, marching like ants.   
There are too many, he brooded. They will crush us like a man crushes a bothersome fly.   
His heart beat slowly as he watched destruction appear, unfurling black banners that flapped in the gathering wind like carrion. Throngs of Orcs, marching in wedge-liked formations, phalanxes of werewolves, lean grey things made of fur and claws and teeth, cadres of flaming Balrogs, armed with whips and maces. All trained to fight in formation, skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Compared to Morgoth's army, the Host of the Valar was a motley band, undisciplined and desperate.   
Yet they had no choice but to walk into the teeth of that army.   
Someone nudged him, and Elrond nodded at his brother. They were nearly full-grown, tall, their height filled out with lean muscle, and Kingsmen now, in the entourage of Gil-Galad the High-King.   
"Are you ready?" Elros' fingers were restless.   
"My blood runs chill," Elrond said softly, stamping his feet. The air was cold, but there seemed to be a heat rising from the earth, something sulfurous and rotten-warm. He changed a glance at Gil-Galad, who was standing unmoved, hard-eyed, taciturn, and deadly.   
"Do you think They are here?" Elros asked, his voice so soft it sounded more like a sigh. Elrond looked down, and then up at the sky. By tacit agreement, they rarely spoke of Elwing and Eärendil, and when they thought of them, it was rarely kind thoughts.   
"Perhaps," he managed at last. "And look." He pointed Northwards, where a tattered remnants of a Noldor army stood, marked by their armor, and headed by an Elf who stood head and shoulders above the rest. His red cloak flapped like a crimson tide.   
Elros smiled bitterly, then spat. "One happy family, it seems. All we need is Mortissë and we shall be complete."   
Elrond did not answer.   
A reek and gloom came then, creeping over the plains in a slow, insidious tide. Captains shouted orders in the mirk, and Elrond heard the stamping of many feet, wolves howling, bats flying, the skittering of spiders. "Pikes up!" Gil-Galad thundered, his eyes gleaming like stars that shine brighter as night darkens. Elrond raised his spear, bracing. He was a blooded warrior, more seasoned than any youth had a right to be, but this..........  
The world dissolved into red. It seemed to Elrond that he fought alone, foundering in a seething sea of black. The darkness grew and grew and grew.   
Elrond's mind was a pale void, innocent of thought. He swung his sword again and again, as creeping night swallowed the sun. It was black around him.  
Then it turned orange.   
And men began to scream.   
Elrond looked up, trying to see what new calamity had come. Then he forgot the battle. He forgot the sword in his hand. He forgot to breathe.   
A dragon of untold size crouched on the peaks of Thangorodrim, crowned by a tempest of flame and lightening. His smaller brethren swarmed into the air, searing the darkness with red fire, but Ancalagon did not deign to move until a foe worthy of his might came to challenge him. His teeth were spears, his jaws could crunch towers in twain, he could drink seas dry and melt mountains with his breath.   
Ancalagon threw back his head and roared, and the bones of Beleriand, tunneled through and hollowed out, shook as if with palsy.  
"No!" Elrond shouted. "No! No! No!"   
Fire flew around him, bright and hot, and men seemed to become living candles as they blazed up. The furnace wind beat at his face and roaring chaos surrounded him.   
He wanted more than anything for a mother's hand to shake him and tell him to wake up. He wanted more than anything for Elros to hit him and tell him to stop screaming, for the stars' sake, he was trying to sleep.   
Instead, he swung his sword again.   
And again.  
And again.  
Battle-fever overtook him. He fought faceless foes, as the past and the future contracted, receded, became meaningless as a yesterday song. There was only the war, this sword swing and then the next and then next, parry maybe, or maybe chop or lunge or step backward. Shield walls formed and broke apart, swords cut, axes slammed, hammers crushed.   
He fought, waiting for death.   
But death did not come.   
He measured hours by how stiff the drying blood on him was. The sky was choked with ash, and there was no sun or moon. Sometimes he fell back to drink water that tasted like copper and blood and dry out his mouth with crumbling bread. He would rest a little too, a thick heavy sludge of sleep that laid him unconscious until someone shook him.   
Then he would go back.   
Days passed like millenium, and years flew by like minutes, and he fought on the front lines of the Host, as they struggled up the slopes of the Iron Mountains, only to be easily repulsed by Ancalagon and his fires.   
Elrond was somewhere in the middle of the field when his fever broke and he looked up at the sky. White light exploded in front of his eyes, like the heart of a star had shattered. He blinked at the terrible glare, his heart pounding, racing, as he saw a white ship descending from the skies, lit by an eldritch, unearthly glow. He saw the Silmaril ablaze---he had seen that light too often in his childhood to mistake it now. Down the ship came, down, down, hovering over the peaks of the Thangorodrim and it seemed silent and ethereal amid the wreck and clash of arms. Behind that proud swan-prowed ship streamed the Eagles in long straight lines and the rush of their wide wings was like an autumn gale.   
Elrond could look no more: he had to fight his own battle. He slammed the point of his blade through the gnarled head of an Orc. Through his helmet came the screams, the hungry crackle of flame, the deep groans of war-horns, and the brazen blast of trumpets. He heard Ancalagon roar and once more the earth beneath his feet shook and shuddered. Eagles swooped and dived among the masses, tawny thunderbolts that seized Orcs and Wolves in their talons and soared upward, letting their catch smash to red ruin on the earth below.   
Ancalagon rose from his post at the bating of Eärendil, a volcano given wings, launching himself into the skies. A shout of gladness and hope came from the Host of the Valar, and Elrond felt himself pushed forward as the army surged up the slopes thick with ghosts and corpses. He dealt out death as dragons wheeled in the sky above him and friend and foe died in the hundreds and the thousands. Everything seemed roaring red or orange or black. There was no in-between. Just that. Going forward was the hardest thing he had ever done or ever would do.   
He marched upward for miles, slipping and sliding on the slag and ashes.   
White sparks blazed around him, falling from the skies, but when he looked up, he saw no figures, only a shadow and a light in the murky skies. There was a glare of fire, lightning forked, and a canopy of silence came down. Wolves opened their slavering jaws and howled unheard. Screams became whispers. Men attacked but the clash of steel upon steel was smothered.  
A flame of white light burst around, covering the sky, and for a half a heartbeat, the battlefield was as bright as day, and a savage wind tore at the armies.  
Then came Ancalagon, not in glory and not in terror, but a black-scaled corpse plummeting through the air to land on the peaks of the Thangorodrim, and those hollowed mountains screamed and groaned under the weight of his passing.   
Elrond felt the earth under his feet become undone and knew it was over. And then, at the very last, he felt a great power, a power that chilled him with its immensity, push the ground back together, pulling solid rock out of dust, letting him walk again.   
He did not just walk, he ran, screaming wild things at the top of his lungs. Legions of darkness broke and died upon the bulwarks of light, and under the command of their master came again, and broke and died once more, till black blood soaked the ground and the mountains were covered with corpses.   
And the Host streamed down the Iron Mountains towards Angband. But Elrond felt his legs give out from under him, and he fell to his knees on a jutting crag and cried. And for who, he could not say.   
"Elrond?"  
A hand was on his back. "Elrond? Kiddo? Get up."   
He turned his head slowly, looking into green eyes.   
"Get up," she repeated. "Don't give out on me now, kiddo. Not after all this."   
He struggled to his feet. Why is my father not here? he wanted to shout. Why is he not coming down to greet his sons?   
"Mellon nín," he managed, his voice as harsh as steel on stone.   
"I told you we would see each other again," Mortissë affirmed. He thought she might be smiling behind her mask. They looked down together, where armies roiled and swarmed around the looming horror of Angband. "I'm going down there," she said. "Take care of yourself, kiddo."   
Then she was gone, skidding down the shale-cursed slopes into the churning fray.   
Elrond heard footsteps behind him, and turned with his sword drawn, to see Elros leaping down the slopes towards him. He steadied his brother when he landed and made his mouth smile.   
"The last gasp, brother. Are you ready?"   
Elros' grey eyes shone, lit by the fires around. "By the gods, I think I am."


	78. Bring us light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As we all know, the two Silmarilli that missed made Maehdros kill himself while Maglor threw his to the sea but, what role did Laura played in all of this.

Chapter 78: Bring Us Light 

The quiet was fraught with ghosts, the crumbling land holding echoes of the battle that had raged for nearly half a century. Beleriand was now a blackened ruin, pocked with rubble and pits of flame gouged deep into the earth, crowded with unquiet spirits. Morgoth had been its sick, beating heart for too long, and now that he was gone, there was no return. It began its slow rotting descent into the Great Sea, a final baptism to wash away all evil, a last sacrifice.......to whom, they could not say.   
Laura sat alone, her back against a crumbling stone facade, blackened by dragon fire. Sleep was far beyond her grasp. Instead, she listened to the quiet movements, as the once-great army readied to go its separate ways. By dawn, the Vanyar and Maiar would set sail for Valinor, taking Morgoth, bound by Angainor, and the Silmarils as their victory-prize. While the Noldor and Men would be forced to retreat East, beyond the reach of the encroaching sea.   
Then what? Laura wondered. What happens to me? Am I done? 

***  
"The Oath. Remember the Oath, Makalaurë.” Maedhros paced like a caged tiger, his hair like burnished copper in the flickering torchlight. It seemed to Maglor that a great weariness settled itself on his broad shoulders, so he seemed stooped, like one greatly aged when he said that word. It was a dark star they had trailed to Ennor, as Fëanor manipulated their love for them, letting them drown in his madness.   
"I remember. But-"  
"No," Maedhros said, kneeling in front of his brother. "Makalaurë, you do not understand. It was not you that our loving father made swear in the sight of gods and men, to recover the lost treasure. It was a sacred oath. I cannot retract it."  
"Yet if we go with the Silmarilli," Maglor pleaded. "As Eönwë desires us to, be judged in the courts of the Valar. And if Manwë and Varda themselves deny the fulfillment of an oath to which we named them in witness, is it not made void?"   
"But how shall our voices reach to Ilúvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Ilúvatar we swore in our madness and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?" Maedhros demanded.   
"If none can release us," said Maglor, "then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our oath or break it; but less evil shall we do in the breaking."  
"So you say," Maedhros said. "Yet one who dies with his oath broken is one lower than a worm."   
Maglor seemed to shrivel in on himself, covering his face with his hands. Maedhros stood dumbly at the tent-entrance, his face miserable.   
Finally, Maglor rose and buckled his sword-belt. "There are guards," he said.   
"One battle," Maedhros assured him. "One battle to put an end to this misery."   
As Maglor foresaw, the tent where the holy jewels were housed was well-guarded by Vanyar soldiers. But the sons of Fëanor were nothing if not well-trained, and the guards watered the ashy ground with their blood without sounding a cry of alarm.   
Few would willingly sleep by the jewels, not even Eönwë, greatest of the Maiar, for they were made of things splendid and unsettling. They were housed in their own tent, in a locked wooden box. Maedhros clove the lock in two and flung the lid back. There, cushioned on tiretaine, the jewels shone like fallen stars.   
“There is no time! Let us go!” Maglor hissed.   
Maedhros stood still, hesitated. Redemption. It was a pretty word, with a sidereal sound. Far, far away. He was too far gone. Face the swords. That was the only way, and then this could be over.   
“Betrayal! Betrayal!” a woman screamed outside the tent, a high, shrill sound that sliced through the night like steel through silk.   
Maedhros snatched up the box, even as the camp flared to life, clattering with swords and shields. By the time he ducked out of the tent, a cadre of Vanyar soldiers stood there, glittering in the torchlight.   
Leading them was Eönwe, Herald of Manwë, Armsmaster of Ennor. He was clad in magnificent armor of burnished red steel, his rondels were airy sunbursts, and an eagle on each shoulder fastened a cape the tawny color of hawk feathers. His face was startlingly, fearsomely beautiful, and his eyes, a light grey that was nearly white, seemed to burn.   
Maedhros stood still, clutching the box to his chest with his gold hand, his sword in the other. At his back was Maglor, pale and wordless.   
“I see the Fëanorians return to their old tricks,” he said. His voice boomed and rumbled, a sound deeper than thunder or warhorns, and more Elves poured from their tents, clustering behind the Vanyar cadre.   
“These are ours by right,” Maedhros retorted fiercely. The moon silvered his sword, a pale crescent that rode through the clouds, indifferently peering through the smokes and reeks. “Fëanor forged them, and they are ours.”   
“He forged them from the light of the Two Trees,” Eönwe said. “And even were they yours by right, is that sufficient for you to continue slaughtering your compatriots?”   
“They are murderers and traitors!” a voice shouted from the shadowy mass behind Eönwe, and there was a clamor of approval.   
“Enough hiding, Mortissë!” Maglor cried out. “Come show yourself, you are not craven.”   
“The Jewels are here,” Maedhros said desperately, holding out the box. “Will you not come fight for them?” Steel on steel, he thought, terrified by Eönwe’s calm, knowing face. Steel on steel, one last battle, and this will be over.   
“No,” Eönwe said. “No weapon will be raised against you. If they are yours by right, then take them and be gone.”   
No, no, no, Maedhros cried inwardly. “Then we will go.”   
He turned away, but Eönwe’s inexplorable voice drew him back. “You may go, and keep the jewels as you see fit, but we will keep the box.”   
Slowly, Maedhros laid the box down, and a small puff of ash erupted as it hit the ground. Inside, the Silmarils blazed, a white light that cast strange shadows, burning hotter than dragon-fire or summer sun.   
I know what you are doing, he thought, looking up at Eönwe, who regarded him impassively. For I am the Lord of the Red Right Hand.   
He picked the Silmaril. The gemstone lay in his palm, the size and weight of a plover’s egg, cool to the touch. At first.   
Maglor picked up the other stone, kicking the box towards the Maia, who stopped it with his foot.   
The Silmaril in Maedhros’ hand began to glow with light. At first slowly, a single flame of white light stretching upward, then it burst into such brilliance that all but Eönwe shielded their eyes. It seemed to Maedhros that the fire was cleansing him, burning away the doubt and fear, and then….  
Pain fountained up in him, a deep soul-biting pain. His hand blistered, smoked: the camp became awash with light and shadows leaped and capered, boneless and terrible. White flames writhed up his arm like ghosts, his fingers blazed bright as torches.   
This is how it ends, he thought, even as his feet carried him away from Eönwe’s mocking white eyes. The fire branded the air with shimmering glyphs and runes, telling him the stories of his past as fire plumed up from the Silmaril and embers flew like swarms of fireflies.   
The ground beneath his feet opened into a gaping chasm, a pit gouged into the fires that dwell in the heart of the earth, coloring the cliffs crimson.   
He fell to his knees and screamed with anguish and despair as the holy light devoured him, flames racing up to feed on him. And below him, something seemed to take shape in the inferno, something with hair the color of fire, or of burnished copper. He breathed relief, sobbed contrition, and fell forward into the waiting arms of fire and brimstone, even as a hawk soared above, beating the curdled night-clouds with tawny wings.   
And faraway on white shores, a mother wept.   
Maglor had seen his brother fall. Now he swerved away, running Westwards towards the sea, aware of the figure that followed him as closely on his own shadow.   
“Time to tour the Halls of Mandos,” she shouted at him as they ran, her voice accented with bloodlust.   
He ran to a bluff, where the encroaching sea crashed green and blue and grey, wave after wave crashing restlessly, eager to swallow the rest of Beleriand. The hand that clutched the Silmaril was smoking, the pain searing and intense. Tears streaked his cheeks as parades of white fire danced and swayed like Northern lights.   
He listened for a minute, hearing only the susurrus of waves, not the metallic grate behind him, and then threw the Silmaril.   
It branded the night sky with white fire from horizon to horizon, and it seemed to Maglor as he stood on the lonely bluff that the ocean seemed to reach up for it with watery arms, forcing the flying gem downwards. It sunk beneath the waves in a final, blinding blaze of light, and so the last Silmaril found its long home.


	79. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, let's see what happened to Laura at the end of the First Age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is 'On an island' from the album of the singer David Gilmour, 'On an island'.

Chapter 8: Epilogue

She stood alone on the stony cliff, muscles shocked into stillness, staring out at the sea. White breakers plumed out in foam, and she could taste the salt spray on her lips. The lonely crag she stood on was all that was left off once-great Beleriand. Gondolin was drowned beneath the waves. So was the Echoriath, Ossiriand, Brethil, Dorthonion. Now all that remained was Lindon, a few scattered island, and a boundless ocean that stretched in front of her, racing onwards to meet the horizon.   
Shock and shame hammered through Laura's heart. She had wanted to go back to Gondolin, try to rediscover herself, find the woman that Glorfindel had loved. She had felt herself changing over the years, a devolution whose bitter denouement had been when she had tried to kill Maglor. The Elf had escaped, but it seemed X-23 had also escaped whatever cell Glorfindel had placed her in. The bloodlust, the vicious way she fought, how she had wanted to kill Maglor......no, torture him until he screamed for death. He had been the instrument, if not the orchestrator of the kiddos' orphaning, but that did not excuse her bellicose desires.   
Glorfindel had called her a 'kind woman', once upon a time. Now she was not kind. Maybe not even a woman. She was an abomination, standing madder than Fëanor.   
Laura began to scream into the empty air, wordless primal screams full of despair and helpless anger. As if the water had washed away the last part of her, and now she drowned in an ocean of fury and fear.   
She screamed into she was hoarse, and her voice splintered, and then she fell to her knees, her tears flooding the lichen-splotched granite.   
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, holding her head in both hands. "I can't do this anymore!" she repeated, sitting up and shouting out at the sea. "I can't do this! I'm not going to be an assassin again! I'm not a fucking killer puppet!"   
The sea crashed and rolled, calm with the assurance of complete power. Laura felt that the last of her strength had been expended. She leaned down until her forehead touched the rock. It felt good against her feverish skin and she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.   
Something cool landed on the back of her neck. She reached around to feel what it was, hissing through her teeth, "If one of your gulls shit on me, I'm done."   
It was rain though. It reached down for her with cool, silver fingers and all the ocean seemed to dance. It was gentle, silent, almost like an elegy, and she thought it fit her mood. It arranged a sweet pattern on her skin, brought a steadiness to her soul. Hot rage and despair pulsed out of her joined the sacred rain that puddled in the crannies and crevasses. With it came a resigned understanding. She had to keep going. Her duty was not yet done, for there were other evils. Morgoth's lieutenant, for one. Mairon Gorthaur, who had adopted a fair form to charm Eönwë. It was hard to believe he had returned docilely to Valinor to receive judgment. The Bat, whose true name she had never heard, but had seen her during the War of Wrath, a woman in ragged white, beating the air with leathery wings, swooping down to snatch up foes like a hawk pounces on a rabbit. Morgoth had fostered dark spawn in his strongholds and destroying Angband had only unleashed it onto the world.   
The rain streamed down her cheeks like tears, beating a quiet percussion on rock and wave. It glinted on the bracelet Elrond had given her, magnifying the pebbles he had studded it with, river-rolled smooth, greens and whites and pale pinks. She began to cry again, loneliness clutching at her heart like a hand squeezing a grape.   
Something nuzzled at her head, chewing thoughtfully on her braid. Laura reached around, trying to shoo it away, and her hand found soft fur. She turned and her breath caught in her throat.   
Black eyes gazed back at her. Viento Nocturno stood there, spirited and splendid, her mane and coat the rich velvet of a summer night, as strong and healthy as when Laura had last seen her.   
She sprang to her feet and wrapped her arms around the mare's neck, sobbing into the ebony pelt.   
"Thank you," she whispered to the ocean. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."   
The mare nuzzled her and Laura ran her hands over Viento Nocturno's back, noticing the thin saddle and bridle. That was good. She could ride bareback but was better with tack.   
A weathered piece of parchment peered from the saddlebags. She slipped it out and read it through a mist of tears, recognizing the handwriting. The ink was old and fading, the edges of the parchment burned, but it was still readable. She read it out loud, the sea and the rain and her mare the only audience.   
"'Remember that night,  
White steps in the moonlight  
They walked here too,  
Through empty playground  
This ghost town.   
Children again,  
On rusting swings getting higher,  
Sharing a dream,  
On an island, it felt right.

We lay side by side,  
Between the Moon and the tide,  
Mapping the stars for a while.

Let the night surround you,  
We're halfway through the stars  
Ebb and flow, let it go,  
Feel her warmth beside you.

Remember that night,  
The warmth and the laughter,  
Candles burnt,   
Though the place was deserted  
At dawn, we went down  
Through empty streets through the harbor,  
Dreamers may leave but they are here ever after.

Let the night surround you,  
We're halfway through the stars  
Ebb and flow, let it go,  
Feel her warmth beside you.'"

Pain filled her heart, the aching emptiness of loss, but there was something in those words, that a golden heart had written, that alleviated the anguish, like a tender hand laying a cold cloth on her fevered brow. She closed her eyes, swallowed, and then turned to Viento Nocturno.   
"Let's go, amigo," she said. "Like the say, too much to do, not enough time. But we're going to pay the kiddos a visit anyway. You'll really like them, I promise."   
The rain parted for them like a silver curtain as they went East, towards Lindon.


	80. Note from the author

So this is the end of the first book that tells Laura's life in Middle-Earth. We have been witnesses of the slow burn love with Lord Glorfindel and her slow change in Gondolin and from the trainer of recruits to a vigilante.   
However, as the epilogue states, she has a lot of to do. What is that? What will be her role during the Second Age? To whom will she know? Who will be her enemie or enemies besides Sauron? And will she make new friends besides Elrond and Elros? These and many other questions will be answered in the next book which title will be: 'The story never told before. Book 2: Mortissë, the Warrior in the Shadows'.  
Hoping you like it this first book and waiting for your reviews, guys. They encourage and help the Muse.


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